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i^'iM?"^it1  '- 


THANKSGIVING. 


THE 

ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD  ; 

SHEWING 

WHO  ROBBED  HIM,  WHO  HELPED  HIM,  AND  WHO  PASSED  HIM  BY: 
TO  WHICH  IS  NOW  PREFIXED 

A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


BY 

WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY. 


n-JTH  ILLUSTRA  TIONS  BY  F.   WALKER  AND  THE  AUTHOR. 


CHICAGO   AND   NEW   YORK: 

BELFORD,  CLARKE   &   COMPANY, 

Publishers. 


1S57 


TO 

B.   W.   PROCTER 

THIS  STORY  IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


672724 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


When  the  "  Shabby  Genteel  Story "  was  first  reprinted  with 
other  stories  and  sketches  by  Mr.  Thackeray,  collected  together 
under  the  title  of  "  Miscellanies,"  the  following  note  was 
appended  to  it : — 

It  was  my  intention  to  complete  the  little  story,  of  which  only  the  first 
part  is  here  written.  Perhaps  novel-readers  will  understand,  even  from 
the  above  chapters,  what  was  to  ensue.  Caroline  was  to  be  disowned  and 
deserted  by  her  wicked  husband  :  that  abandoned  man  was  to  marry  some- 
body else  :  hence,  bitter  trials  and  grief,  patience  and  virtue,  for  poor 
little  Caroline,  and  a  melancholy  ending — as  how  should  it  have  been 
gay .''  The  tale  was  interrupted  at  a  sad  period  of  the  writer's  own  life. 
The  colors  are  long  since  dry  ;  the  artistes  hand  is  changed.  It  is  best  to 
leave  the  sketch,  as  it  was  when  first  designed  seventeen  years  ago.  The 
memory  of  the  past  is  renewed  as  he  looks  at  it — 


die  BilJcr  froher  Tage 
Unci  manchc  Hebe  Schatten  steigen  auf 


W.  M.  T. 


London,  April  \oth,  1857. 


Mr.  Brandon,  a  principal  character  in  this  story,  figures  prom- 
inently in  "The  Adventures  of  Philip,"  under  his  real  name 
of  Brand  Firmin  ;  Mrs.  Brandon,  his  deserted  wife,  and  hef 
father,  Mr.  Gann,  are  also  introduced  ;  therefore  the  "  Shabby 
Genteel  Story "  is  now  prefixed  to  "  The  Adventures  of 
Philip." 


CONTENTS. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


I 7 

II.  How  Mrs.  Gann  received  two  Lodgers i8 

III.  A    Shabby    Genteel   Dinner,  and  other  Incidents  of  a 

like  Nature 28 

IV,  In  which  Mr.  Fitch  proclaims  his  Love,  and  Mr.  Bran- 

don prepares  for  War 42 

V.  Contains  a  great  Deal  of  complicated  Love-making 48 

VI.  Describes  a  Shabby  Genteel  Marriage  and  more  Love- 
making 62 

VII,  Which  brings  a  great  Number  of   People  to  Margate 

by  the  Steamboat 69 

VIII.  Which  treats  of  War  and  Love,  and  many  Things  that 

are  not  to  be  understood  in  Chap.  VII 75 

IX    Which  threatens  Death,  but  contains    a  great  Deal  of 

Marrying 87 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILH^ 

CHAP.  PAGE. 

I.  Doctor  Fell loi 

II.  At  School  and  at  Home no 

III.  A  Consultation 119 

IV.  A  Genteel  Family 1 27 

V.  The  Noble  Kinsman I39 

VI.  Brandon's J 55 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PA«g. 

VII.  Impletur  Veteris  Bacclii 167 

VIII.  Will   be  pronounced  to  be  Cynical  by  the  Benevo- 
lent     182 

IX.  Contains  one  Riddle  which  is  solved,  and  perhaps 

some  more 1 88 

X.  In  which  we  visit  "  Admiral  Byng" 198 

XI.  In  which  Philip  is  very  ill-tempered 208 

XII.  Damocles 22?, 

XIII.  Love  me  love  my  Dog 240 

XIV.  Contains  two  of  Philip's  Mishaps 252 

XV.  Samaritans 269 

XVI.  In  which  Philip  shows  his  Mettle 276 

XVII.  Brevis  esse  Laboro 294 

XVIII.  Drum  ist's  so  wohl  mir  in  der  Welt 304 

XIX.  Qu'on  est  bien  a  Vingt  Ans 322 

XX.  Course  of  True  Love 334 

XXI.  Treats  of  Dancing,  Dining,  Dying 349 

XXII.  Pulvis  et  Umbra  sumus 367 

XXIII.  In  which  we  still  hover  about  the  Elysian  Fields..  .   376 

XXIV.  Nee  dukes  Amores  sperne,  Puer,  neque  tu  Choreas.  393 
XXV.   Infandi  Dolores 403 

XXVJ.  Contains  a  Tug  of  War 418 

XXVII.  I  charge  you,  i3rop  your  Daggers 430 

XXVIII.   In  which  Mrs.  MacWhirter'has  a  New  Bonnet 443 

XXIX.  In  the  Departments  of  Seine,  Loire,  and  Styx  (In- 

fdrieur) 457 

XXX.  Returns  to  Old  Friends 47i 

XXXI.   Narrates  that  Famous  Joke  about  Miss  Grigsby.  .  .  485 
XXXII.  Ways  and  Means :  • . .   500 

XXXIII.  Describes   a    Situation    interesting  but   not    unex- 

pected     509 

XXXIV.  In  which  I  own  that  Philip  tells  an  Untruth 517 

XXXV.  Res  Angusta  Domi 535 

XXXVI.  In   which    the  Drawing-rooms  are  not    Furnished 

after  all 549 

XXXVII.  Nee  plena  Cruoris  Hirudo 562 

XXXVIII.  The  Bearer  of  the  Bowstring 574 

XXXIX.  In  which  several  People  have  their  Trials 589 

XL.  In  which  the  Luck  goes  very  much  against  us 595 

XLI.  In  which  we  reachthe  Last   Stage  but  one  of  this 

Journey   616 

XLII.  The  Realms  of  Bliss 621 


SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

At  that  remarkable  period  when  Louis  XVIIL  was  restored 
a  second  time  to  the  throne  of  his  fathers,  and  all  the  English 
who  had  money  or  leisure  rushed  over  to  the  Continent,  there 
lived  in  a  certain  boarding-house  at  Brussels  a  genteel  young 
widow,  who  bore  the  elegant  name  of  Mrs.  Wellesley  Macarty. 

In  the  same  house  and  room  with  the  widow  lived  her 
mamma,  a  lady  who  was  called  Mrs.  Crabb.  Both  professed 
to  be  rather  fashionable  people.  The  Crabbs  were  of  a  very 
old  English  stock,  and  the  Macartys  were,  as  the  world  knows, 
Country  Cork  people ;  related  to  the  Sheenys,  Finnigans, 
Clancys,  and  other  distinguished  families  in  their  part  of 
Ireland.  But  Ensign  Wellesley  Mac,  not  having  a  shilling,  ran 
off  with  Miss  Crabb,  who  possessed  the  same  independence  j 
and  after  having  been  married  about  six  months  to  the  lady, 
was  carried  off  suddenly,  on  the  i8th  of  June,  1815,  by  a  disease 
very  prevalent  in  those  glorious  times — the  fatal  cannon-shot 
morbus.  He,  and  many  hundred  young  fellows  of  his  regiment, 
the  Clonakilty  Fencibles,  were  attacked  by  this  epidemic  on 
the  same  day,  at  a  place  about  ten  miles  from  Brussels,  and 
there  perished.  The  ensign's  lady  had  accompanied  her  hus- 
band to  the  Continent,  and  about  five  months  after  his  death 
brought  into  the  world  two  remarkably  fine  female  children. 

Mrs.  Wellesley's  mother  had  been  reconciled  to  her  daughter 
by  this  time — for,  in  truth,  Mrs.  Crabb  had  no  other  child  but 
her  runaway  Juliana,  to  whom  she  flew  when  she  heard  of  her 
destitute  condition.  And,  indeed,  it  was  high  time  that  some 
one  should  come  to  the  young  widow's  aid  ;  for  as  her  husband 


8  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

did  not  leave  money,  nor  anything  that  represented  money, 
except  a  number  of  tailors'  and  bootmakers'  bills,  neatly 
docketed,  in  his  writing-desk,  Mrs.  Wellesley  was  in  danger  of 
starvation,  should  no  friendly  person  assist  her. 

Mrs.  Crabb,  then,  came  off  to  her  daughter,  whom  the 
Sheenys,  Finnigans,  and  Clancys  refused,  with  one  scornful 
voice,  to  assist.  The  fact  is,  that  Mr.  Crabb  had  once  been 
butler  to  a  lord,  and  his  lady  a  lady's-maid  ;  and  at  Crabb's 
death,  Mrs.  Crabb  disposed  of  the  "  Ram  "  hotel  and  posting- 
house,  where  her  husband  had  made  three  thousand  pounds, 
and  was  living  in  genteel  ease  in  a  country  town,  when  Ensign 
Macarty  came,  saw,  and  ran  away  with  Juliana.  Of  such  a 
connection,  it  was  impossible  that  the  great  Clancys  and  Fin- 
nigans could  take  notice  ;  and  so  once  more  widow  Crabb  was 
compelled  to  share  with  her  daughter  her  small  income  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  a  year. 

Upon  this,  at  a  boarding-house  in  Brussels,  the  two  managed 
to  live  pretty  smartly,  and  to  maintain  an  honorable  reputation. 
The  twins  were  put  out,  after  the  foreign  fashion,  to  nurse,  at  a 
village  in  the  neigliborhood  ;  for  Mrs.  Macarty  had  been  too  ill 
to  nurse  them ;  and  Mrs.  Crabb  could  not  afi'ord  to  purchase 
that  most  expensive  article,  a  private  wet-nurse. 

There  had  been  numberless  tiffs  and  quarrels  between 
mother  and  daughter  when  the  latter  was  in  her  maiden  state  ; 
and  Mrs.  Crabb  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  in  nowise  sorrow  when 
her  Jooly  disappeared  with  the  ensign, — for  the  old  lady  dearly 
loved  a  gentleman,  and  was  not  a  little  flattered  at  being  the 
mother  to  Mrs.  Ensign  Macarty.  Why  ihe  ensign  should  have 
run  away  with  his  lady  at  all,  as  he  might  have  had  her  for  the 
asking,  is  no  business  of  ours  ;  nor  are  we  going  to  rake  up  old 
stories  and  village  scandals,  which  insinuate  that  Miss  Crabb 
ran  away  with  /lim,  for  with  these  points  the  writer  and  the 
reader  have  nothing  to  do. 

Well,  then,  the  reconciled  mother  and  daughter  lived  once 
more  together,  at  Brussels.  In  the  course  of  a  year,  Mrs. 
Macarty's  sorrow  had  much  abated  ;  and  having  a  great  natural 
love  of  dress,  and  a  tolerably  handsome  face  and  person,  she 
was  induced,  without  much  reluctance,  to  throw  her  weeds  aside, 
and  to  appear  in  the  most  becoming  and  varied  costumes  which 
her  means  and  ingenuity  could  furnish.  Considering,  indeed, 
the  smallness  of  the  former,  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that 
Mrs.  Crabb  and  her  daughter  deserved  wonderful  credit, — 
that  is,  they  managed  to  keep  up  as  respectable  an  appearance 
as  if  they  had  five  hundred  a  year  ;  and  at  church,  at  tea-parties. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  g 

and  abroad  in  (he  streets,  to  be  what  is  called  quite  the  gentle- 
women. If  they,  starved  at  home,  nobody  saw  it;  if  they 
patched  and  pieced,  nobody  (it  was  to  be  hoped;  knew  it  ;  if 
they  bragged  about  their  relations  and  property,  could  any  one 
say  them  nay  ?  Thus  they  lived,  hanging  on  with  desperate 
energy  to  the  skirts  of  genteel  society;  Mrs.  Crabb,  a  sharp 
woman,  rather  respected  her  daughter's  superior  rank  ;  and 
Mrs.  Macarty  did  not  quarrel  so  much  as  heretofore  with  her 
mamma,  on  whom  herself  and  her  two  children  were  entirely 
dependent. 

While  affairs  were  at  this  juncture,  it  happened  that  a 
young  Englishman,  James  Gann,  Esq.,  of  the  great  oil  house  of 
Gann,  Blubbery  and  Gann  (as  he  took  care  to  tell  you  before 
you  had  been  an  hour  m  his  company), — it  happened,  I  say, 
that  James  Gann,  Esq.,  came  to  Brussels  for  a  month,  for  the 
purpose  of  perfecting  himself  in  the  French  language  ;  and 
while  in  that  capital  went  to  lodge  at  the  very  boarding-house 
which  contained  Mrs.  Crabb  and  her  daughter.  Gann  was 
young,  weak,  inflammable ;  he  saw  and  adored  Mrs.  Wellesley 
Macarty  ;  and  she,  who  was  at  this  period  all  but  engaged  to  a 
stout  old  wooden-legged  Scotch  regimental  surgeon,  pitilessly 
sent  Dr.  M'Lint  about  his  business,  and  accepted  the  addresses 
of  Mr.  Gann.  How  the  young  man  arranged  matters  with  his 
papa  the  senior  partner,  I  don't  know  ;  but  it  is  certain  that 
there  was  a  quarrel,  and  afterwards  a  reconciliation  ;  and  it  is 
also  known  that  James  Gann  fought  a  duel  with  the  surgeon, — 
receiving  the  ^•Esculapian  fire,  and  discharging  his  own  bullet 
into  the  azure  skies.  About  nine  thousand  times  in  the  course 
of  his  after-years  did  Mr.  Gann  narrate  the  history  of  the 
combat ;  it  enabled  him  to  go  through  life  with  the  reputation 
of  a  man  of  courage,  and  won  for  him,  as  he  said  with  pride, 
the  hand  of  his  Juliana  ;  perhaps  this  was  rather  a  questionable 
benefit. 

One  part  of  the  tale,  however,  honest  James  never  did  dare 
to  tell,  except  when  peculiarly  excited  by  wrath  or  liquor  ;  it 
was  this  :  that  on  the  day  after  the  wedding,  and  in  the  presence 
of  many  friends  who  had  come  to  offer  their  congratulations,  a 
stout  nurse,  bearing  a  brace  of  chubby  little  ones,  made  her 
appearance  ;  and  these  rosy  urchins,  springing  forward  at  the 
sight  of  Mrs.  James  Gann,  shouted  affectionately,  '■'■  Matnan  ! 
mamanf"  at  which  the  lady,  blushing  rosy  red,  said,  "James, 
these  two  are  yours  ;  "  and  poor  James  wellnigh  fainted  at  this 
sudden  paternity  so  put  upon  him.  "  Children  !  "  screamed 
he,  aghast ;  "  whose  children  ?  "  at  which  Mrs.  Crabb,  majesti- 


lO  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

cally  checking!;  liini,  said,  "  These,  my  dear  James,  are  the 
daughters  of  the  gallant  and  good  Ensign  Macarty,  whose 
widow  you  yesterday  led  to  the  altar.  May  you  be  happy  with 
her,  and  may  these  blessed  children  "  (tears)  "  find  in  you  a 
father,  who  shall  replace  him  that  fell  in  the  field  of  glory  !  " 

Mrs.  Crabb,  Mrs.  James  Gann,  Mrs.  Major  Lolly,  Mrs. 
Piffler,  and  several  ladies  present,  set  up  a  sob  immediately  ; 
and  James  Gann,  a  good-humored,  soft-hearted  man,  was  quite 
taken  aback.  Kissing  his  lady  hurriedly,  he  vowed  that  he 
would  take  care  of  the  poor  little  things,  and  proposed  to  kiss 
them  likewise  ;  which  caress  the  darlings  refused  with  many 
roars.  Gann's  fate  was  sealed  from  that  minute  ;  and  he  was 
properly  henpecked  by  his  wife  and  mother-in-law  during  the 
life  of  the  latter.  Indeed,  it  was  to  Mrs.  Crabb  that  the  strata- 
gem of  the  infant  concealment  wms  due  ;  for  when  her  daughter 
innocently  proposed  to  have  or  to  see  the  children,  the  old  lady 
strongly  pointed  out  the  folly  of  such  an  arrangement,  which 
might,  perhaps,  frighten  away  Mr.  Gann  from  the  delightful 
matrimonial  trap  into  which  (lucky  rogue  \)  he  was  about  to 
fall. 

Soon  after  the  marriage,  the  happy  pair  returned  to  Eng- 
land, occupying  the  house  in  Thames  Street,  City,  until  the 
death  of  Gann  senior  ;  when  his  son,  becoming  head  of  the 
firm  of  Gann  and  Blubbery,  quitted  the  dismal  precincts  of 
Billingsgate  and  colonized  in  the  neighborhood  of  Putney ; 
where  a  neat  box,  a  couple  of  spare  bedrooms,  a  good  cellar, 
and  a  smart  gig  to  drive  into  and  out  from  town,  made  a  real 
gentleman  of  him.  Mrs.  Gann  treated  him  with  much  scorn,  to 
be  sure,  called  him  a  sot,  and  abused  hugely  the  male  com- 
panions that  he  brought  down  with  him  to  Putney,  Honest 
James  would  listen  meekly,  would  yield,  and  would  bring  down  a 
l)race  more  friends  the  next  day,  with  whom  he  would  discuss 
his  accustomed  number  of  bottles  of  port.  About  this  period, 
a  daughter  was  born  to  him,  called  Caroline  l>radenburg  Gann  ; 
so  named  after  a  large  mansion  near  Hammersmith,  and  an 
injured  queen  who  lived  there  at  the  time  of  the  little  girl's 
birth,  and  who  was  greatly  compassioned  and  patronized  by 
Mrs.  James  Gann,  and  other  ladies  of  distinction.  Mrs.  James 
7oas  a  lady  in  those  days,  and  gave  evening-parties  of  the  very 
first  order. 

At  this  period  of  time,  Mrs.  James  Gann  sent  the  twins 
Rosalind  Clancy  and  Isabella  Einnigan  Wellesley  Macarty,  to 
a  boarding-school  for  young  ladies,  and  grumbled  much  at  the 
amount  of  the   half-vears'  bills  which  her  husband  was  called 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  H 

upon  to  pay  for  them  ;  for  though  James  discharged  them  with 
perfect  good-humor,  his  lady  began  to  entertain  a  mean  opinion 
indeed  of  her  pretty  young  children.  They  could  expect  no 
fortune,  she  said,  from  Mr.  Gann,  and  she  wondered  that  he 
should  think  of  bringing  them  up  expensively,  when  he  had  a 
darling  child  of  his  own,  for  whom  he  was  bound  to  save  all  the 
money  that  he  could  lay  by. 

Grandmamma,  too,  doted  on  the  little  Caroline  Branden- 
burg, and  vowed  that  she  would  leave  her  three  thousand  pounds 
to  this  dear  infant ;  for  in  this  way  does  the  world  show  its 
respect  for  that  most  respectable  thing  prosperity.  Who  in 
this  life  get  the  smiles,  and  the  acts  of  friendship,  and  the  pleas- 
ing legacies  ? — The  rich.  And  I  do,  for  my  part,  heartily  wish 
that  some  one  would  leave  me  a  trifle — say  twenty  thousand 
pounds — being  perfectly  confident  that  some  one  else  would 
leave  me  more  ;  and  that  I  should  sink  into  my  grave  worth  a 
plum  at  least. 

Little  Caroline  then  had  her  maid,  her  airy  nursery,  her 
little  carriage  to  drive  in,  the  promise  of  her  grandmamma's 
consols,  and  that  priceless  treasure — her  mamma's  undivided 
affection.  Gann,  too,  loved  her  sincerely,  in  his  careless,  good- 
humored  way ;  but  he  determined,  notwithstanding,  that  his 
step-daughters  should  have  something  handsome  at  his  death, 
but — but  for  a  great  But. 

Gann  and  Ijlubbery  were  in  the  oil  line, — have  we  not  said 
so  ?  Their  profits  arose  from  contracts  for  lighting  a  great 
number  of  streets  in  London  ;  and  about  this  period  Gas  came 
into  use.  Gann  and  Blubbery  appeared  in  the  Gazette ;  and,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  so  bad  had  been  the  management  of  Blubbery, 
— so  great  the  extravagance  of  both  partners  and  their  ladies, 
— that  they  only  paid  their  creditors  fourteenpence  halfpenny 
in  the  pound. 

When  Mrs.  Crabb  heard  of  this  dreadful  accident — Mrs. 
Crabb,  who  dined  thrice  a  week  with  her  son-in-law  ;  who  never 
would  have  been  allowed  to  enter  the  house  at  all  had  not 
honest  James  interposed  his  good  nature  between  her  quarrel- 
some daughter  and  herself — Mrs.  Crabb,  I  say,  proclaimed 
James  Gann  to  be  a  swindler,  a  villain,  a  disreputable,  tipsy, 
vulgar  man,  and  made  over  her  money  to  the  Misses  Rosalind 
Clancy  and  Isabella  Finnigan  Macarty  ;  leaving  poor  little 
Caroline  without  one  single  maravedi.  Half  of  one  thousand 
five  hundred  pounds  allotted  to  each  was  to  be  paid  at  marriage, 
the  other  half  on  the  death  of  Mrs.  James  Gann,  who  was  to 
enjoy  the  interest  thereof.     Thus  do  we  rise   and  fall  in  this 


12  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

world — thus  does  P'ortune  shake  her  swift  wings,  and  bid  us 
abruptly  to  resign  the  gifts  (or  rather  loans)  which  we  have  had 
from  her. 

How  Gann  and  his  family  lived  after  their  stroke  of  misfor- 
tune, I  know  not ;  but  as  the  failing  tradesman  is  going  through 
the  process  of  bankruptcy,  and  for  some  months  afterwards,  it 
may  be  remarked  that  he  has  usually  some  mysterious  means  of 
subsistence — stray  spars  of  the  wreck  of  his  property,  on  which 
he  manages  to  seize,  and  to  float  for  a  while.  During  his  retire- 
ment, in  an  obscure  lodging  in  Lambeth,  where  the  poor  fellow 
was  so  tormented  by  his  wife  as  to  be  compelled  to  fly  to  the 
public-house  for  refuge,  Mrs.  Crabb  died  ;  a  hundred  a  year 
thus  came  into  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Gann  ;  and  some  of 
James's  friends,  who  thought  him  a  good  fellow  in  his  prosper- 
ity, came  forward,  and  furnished  a  house,  in  which  they  placed 
him,  and  came  to  see  and  comfort  him.  Then  they  came  to 
see  him  not  quite  so  often  ;  then  they  found  out  that  Mrs. 
Gann  was  a  sad  tyrant,  and  a  silly  woman  ;  then  the  ladies 
declared  her  to  be  insupportable,  and  Gann  to  be  a  low,  tipsy 
fellow:  and  the  gentlemen  could  but  shake  their  heads,  and 
admit  that  the  charge  was  true.  Then  they  left  off  coming  to 
see  him  altogether  ;  for  such  is  the  way  of  the  world,  where 
many  of  us  have  good  impulses,  and  are  generous  on  an  occa- 
sion, but  are  wearied  by  perpetual  want,  and  begin  to  grow 
angry  at  its  importunities — being  very  properly  vexed  at  the 
daily  recurrence  of  hunger,  and  the  impudent  unreasonableness 
of  starvation.  Gann,  then,  had  a  genteel  wife  and  children,  a 
furnished  house,  and  a  hundred  pounds  a  year.  How  should 
he  live?  The  wife  of  James  Gann,  Esq.,  would  never  allow 
him  to  demean  himself  by  taking  a  clerk's  place  ;  and  James 
himself,  being  as  idle  a  fellow  as  ever  was  known,  was  fain  to 
acquiesce  in  this  determination  of  hers,  and  to  wait  for  some  more 
genteel  employment.  And  a  curious  list  of  such  genteel  employ- 
ments might  be  made  out,  were  one  inclined  to  follow  this  interest- 
ing subject  far  ;  shabby  compromises  with  the  world,  into  which 
poor  fellows  enter,  and  still  fondly  talk  of  their  "  position,''  and 
strive  to  imagine  that  they  are  really  working  for  their  bread. 

Numberless  lodging-houses  are  kept  by  the  females,  of  fam- 
ilies who  have  met  with  reverses  :  are  not  "  boarding-houses, 
with  a  select  musical  society,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  squares," 
maintained  by  such  ?  Do  not  the  gentlemen  of  the  boarding 
houses  issue  forth  every  morning  to  the  City,  or  make  believe 
to  go  thither,  on  some  mysterious  business  which  they  have  ? 
After  a  certain  period,  Mrs.  James  Gann  kept  a  lodging-house 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


13 


(in  her  own  words,  received  "  two  inmates  into  her  family  "), 
and  Mr.  Gann  had  his  mysterious  business. 

In  the  year  1835,  when  this  story  begins,  there  stood  in  a 
certain  back  street  in  the  town  of  Margate  a  house,  on  the  door 
of  which  might  be  read,  in  gleaming  brass,  the  name  of  Mr, 
Gann.  It  was  the  work  of  a  single  smutty  servant-maid  to 
clean  this  brass  plate  every  morning,  and  to  attend,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  the  wants  of  Mr.  Gann,  his  family,  and  lodgers ; 
and  his  house  being  not  very  far  from  the  sea,  and  as  you 
might,  by  climbing  up  to  the  roof,  get  a  sight,  between  two 
chimneys,  of  that  multitudinous  element,  Mrs.  Gann  set  down 
her  lodgings  as  fashionable  ;  and  declared  on  her  cards  that 
her  house  commanded  "a  fine  view  of  the  sea." 

On  the  wire  window-blind  of  the  parlor  was  written,  in  large 
characters,  the  word  Office;  and  here  it  was  that  Gann's 
services  came  into  play.  He  was  very  much  changed,  poor 
fellow  !  and  humbled  ;  and  from  two  cards  that  hung  outside 
the  blind,  I  am  led  to  believe  that  he  did  not  disdain  to  be 
agent  to  the  "  London  and  Jamaica  Ginger-Beer  Company," 
and  also  for  a  certain  preparation  called  "  Gaster's  Infants' 
Farinacio,  or  Mothers'  Invigorating  Substitute,"  —  a  damp, 
black,  mouldy,  half-pound  packet  of  which  stood  in  permanence 
at  one  end  of  the  "ofhce"  mantel-piece;  while  a  fly-blown 
ginger-beer  bottle  occupied  the  other  extremity.  Nothing  else 
indicated  that  this  ground-floor  chamber  was  an  office,  except  a 
huge  black  inkstand,  in  which  stood  a  stumpy  pen,  richly  crusted 
with  ink  at  the  nib,  and,  to  all  appearance,  for  many  months 
enjoying  a  sinecure. 

To  this  room  you  saw  every  da}^,  at  two  o'clock,  the  employ'e 
from  the  neighboring  hotel  bring  two  quarts  of  beer  ;  and  if  you 
called  at  that  hour,  a  tremendous  smoke  and  smell  of  dinner 
would  gush  out  upon  you  from  the  "  office,"  as  you  stumbled 
over  sundry  battered  tin  dish-covers,  which  lay  gaping  at  the 
threshhold.  Thus  had  that  great  bulwark  of  gentilit3',"the  din- 
ing at  six  o'clock,  been  broken  in  ;  and  the  reader  must  there- 
fore judge  that  the  house  of  Gann  was  in  a  demoralized  state. 

Gann  certainly  was.  After  the  ladies  had  retired  to  the 
back-parlor  (which,  with  yellow  gauze  round  the  frames,  window 
curtains,  a  red  silk  cabinet  piano,  and  an  album,  was  still  toler- 
ably genteel),  Gann  remained,  to  transact  business  in  the  office. 
This  took  place  in  the  presence  of  friends,  and  usually  consisted 
in  the  production  of  a  bottle  of  gin  from  the  corner  cupboard, 
or,  mayhap,  a  litre  of  brandy,  which  was  given  by  Gann  with  a 
knowing  wink,  and  a  fat  finger  placed  on  a  twinkling  red  nose ; 


14  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

when  Mrs.  G.  was  out,  James  would  also  produce  a  number  of 
pipes,  that  gave  this  room  a  constant  and  agreeable  odor  of 
shag  tobacco. 

In  fact,  Mr.  Gann  had  nothing  to  do  from  morning  till  night. 
He  was  now  a  fat,  bald-headed  man  of  fifty  ;  a  dirty  dandy  on 
week-days,  with  a  shawl  waistcoat,  a  tuft  of  hair  to  his  great, 
double-chin,  a  snuffy  shirt-frill,  and  enormous  breast-pin  and 
seals  :  he  had  a  pilot-coat,  with  large  mother-of-pearl  buttons, 
and  always  wore  a  great  rattling  telescope,  with  which  he  might 
be  seen  for  hours  on  the  sea  shore  or  the  pier,  examining  the 
ships,  the  bathing-machines,  the  ladies'  schools  as  they  paraded 
up  and  down  the  esplanade,  and  all  other  objects  which  the 
telescopic  view  might  give  him.  He  knew  every  person  con- 
nected with  every  one  of  the  Deal  and  Dover  coaches,  and  was 
sure  to  be  witness  to  the  arrival  or  departure  of  several  of 
them  in  the  course  of  the  day  ;  he  had  a  word  for  the  ostler 
about  "  that  gray  mare,"  a  nod  for  the  "  shooter  "  or  guard,  and 
a  bow  for  the  dragsman  ;  he  could  send  parcels  for  nothing  up 
to  town  ;  had  twice  had  Sir  Rumble  Tumble  (the  noble  driver 
of  the  Flash-'o-lightning-light-four-inside-post-coach)  "up  at  his 
place,"  and  took  care  to  tell  you  that  some  of  the  party  were 
pretty  considerably  "  sewn  up,"  too.  He  did  not  frequent  the 
large  hotels  ;  but  in  revenge  he  knew  every  person  who  entered 
or  left  them  ;  and  was  a  great  man  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  and 
the  "Magpie  and  Punchbowl,"  where  he  was  president  of  a 
club  ;  he  took  the  bass  in  "  Mynheer  Van  Dunk,"  "  The  \'\'olf," 
and  many  other  morsels  of  concerted  song,  and  used  to  go 
backwards  and  forwards  to  London  in  the  steamers  as  often  as 
ever  he  liked,  and  have  his  "  grub,"  too,  on  board.  Such  was 
James  Gann,  Many  people,  when  they  wrote  to  him,  addressed 
him  James  Gann,  Esq. 

His  reverses  and  former  splendors  afforded  a  never-failing 
theme  of  conversation  to  honest  (iann  and  the  whole  of  his 
family  ;  and  it  may  be  remarked  that  such  ]Decuniary  misfor- 
tunes, as  they  are  called,  are  by  no  means  misfortunes  to  people 
of  certain  dispositions,  but  actual  pieces  of  good  luck.  Gann, 
for  instance,  used  to  drink  liberally  of  port  and  claret,  when  the 
house  of  Gann  and  Blubbery  was  in  existence,  and  was  hence- 
forth compelled  to  imbibe  only  brandy  and  gin.  Now  he  loved 
these  a  thousand  times  more  than  the  wine  ;  and  had  the 
advantage  of  talking  about  the  latter,  and  of  his  great  merit  in 
giving  them  up.  In  those  prosperous  days,  too,  being  a  gentle- 
man, he  could  not  frequent  the  public-house  as  he  did  at 
present ;  and   the  sanded   tavern  parlor  was  Gann's  supreme 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STOA'V. 


IS 


enjoyment.  He  was  obliged  to  spend  many  hours  daily  in  a 
dark,  unsavory  room  in  an  alley  off  Thames  street ;  and  Gann 
hated  books  and  business,  except  of  other  people's.  His  tastes 
were  low;  he  loved  public-house  jokes  and  company  ;  and  now 
being  fallen,  was  voted  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  and  the  "  Magpie  '' 
before  mentioned  a  tip-top  fellow  and  real  gentleman,  whereas 
he  had  been  considered  an  ordinary  vulgar  man  by  his  fashion- 
able associates  at  Putney.  Many  men  are  there  who  are  made 
to  fall,  and  to  profit  by  the  tumble. 

As  for  Mrs.  G.,  or  Jooly,  as  she  was  indifferently  called  by 
her  husband,  she,  too,  had  gained  by  her  losses.  She  bragged 
of  her  former  acquaintances  in  the  most  extraordinary  way,  and 
to  hear  her  you  would  fancy  that  she  was  known  to  and  con- 
nected with  half  the  peerage.  Her  chief  occupation  was  taking 
medicine,  and  mending  and  altering  her  gowns.  She  had  a 
huge  taste  for  cheap  finery,  loved  raffles,  tea-parties,  and  walks 
on  the  pier,  where  she  flaunted  herself  and  daughters  as  gay  as 
butterflies.  She  stood  upon  her  rank,  did  not  fail  to  tell  her 
lodgers  that  she  was  "  a  gentlewoman,"  and  was  mighty  sharp 
with  Becky  the  maid,  and  poor  Carry,  her  youngest  child. 

For  the  tide  of  affection  had  turned  now,  and  the  "  Misses 
Wellesley  Macarty  "  were  the  darlings  of  their  mother's  heart, 
as  Caroline  had  been  in  the  early  days  of  Putney  prosperity. 
Mrs.  Gann  respected  and  loved  her  elder  daughters,  the  stately 
heiresses  of  1,500/.,  and  scorned  poor  Caroline,  who  was  like- 
wise scorned  (like  Cinderella  in  the  sweetest  of  all  stories)  by 
her  brace  of  haughty,  thoughtless  sisters.  These  young  women 
were  tall,  well-grown,  black-browed  girls,  little  scrupulous,  fond 
of  fun,  and  having  great  health  and  spirits.  Caroline  was  pale 
and  thin,  and  had  fair  hair  and  meek  gray  eyes  ;  nobody  thought 
her  a  beauty  in  her  moping  cotton  gown ;  whereas  the  sisters, 
in  flaunting  printed  muslins,  with  pink  scarfs,  and  artificial 
flowers,  and  brass  fcrronnieres,  and  other  fallals,  were  voted 
very  charming  by  the  Ganns'  circle  of  friends.  They  had  pink 
cheeks,  white  shoulders,  and  many  glossy  curls  stuck  about 
their  shining  foreheads,  as  damp  and  as  black  as  leeches.  Such 
charms,  madam,  cannot  fail  of  having  their  effect ;  and  it  was 
very  lucky  for  Caroline  that  she  did  not  possess  them,  for  she 
might  have  been  rendered  as  vain,  frivolous,  and  vulgar,  as 
these  young  ladies  were. 

While  these  enjoyed  their  pleasures  and  tea-parties  abroad, 
it  was  Carry's  usual  fate  to  remain  at  home,  and  help  the  ser- 
vant in  many  duties  which  were  required  in  Mrs.  Gann's 
establishment.     She  dressed  that  lady  and  her  sisters,  brought 


1 6  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

her  papa  his  tea  in  bed,  kept  the  lodgers'  bills,  bore  their  scold- 
ings if  they  were  ladies,  and  sometimes  gave  a  hand  in  the 
kitchen  if  any  extra  piecrust  or  cookery  was  required.  At  two 
she  made  a  little  toilet  for  dinner,  and  was  employed  on  num- 
])erless  household  darnings  and  mendings  in  the  long  even- 
ings, while  her  sisters  giggled  over  the  jingling  piano,  mamma 
sprawled  on  the  sofa,  and  Gann  was  over  his  glass  at  the  club. 
A  wear}-  lot,  in  sooth,  was  yours,  poor  little  Caroline  !  since  the 
days  of  your  infancy,  not  one  hour  of  sunshine,  no  friendship, 
no  cheery  playfellows,  no  mother's  love  ;  but  that  being  dead, 
the  affections  which  would  have  crept  round  it,  withered  and 
died  too.  Only  James  Gann,  of  all  the  household,  had  a  good- 
natured  look  for  her,  and  a  coarse  word  of  kindness ;  nor,  in- 
deed, did  Caroline  complain,  nor  shed  many  tears,  nor  call  for 
death,  as  she  would  if  she  had  been  brought  up  in  genteeler 
circles.  The  poor  thing  did  not  know  her  own  situation  ;  her 
misery  was  dumb  and  patient ;  it  is  such  as  thousands  and 
thousands  of  women  in  our  society  bear,  and  pine,  and  die  of  \ 
made  up  of  sums  of  small  tyrannies,  and  long  indifference,  and 
bitter  wearisome  injustice,  more  dreadful  to  bear  than  any 
tortures  that  we  of  the  stronger  sex  are  pleased  to  cr)-  .V:\  AW 
about.  In  our  intercourse  with  the  world  (which  is  conducted 
with  that  kind  of  cordiality  that  we  see  in  Sir  Harry  and  my 
lady  in  a  comedy — a  couple  of  painted,  grinning  fools,  talking 
parts  that  they  have  learned  out  of  a  book,) — as  we  sit  and 
look  at  the  smiling  actors,  w-e  get  a  glimpse  behind  the  scenes 
from  time  to  time  ;  and  alas  for  the  wretched  nature  that 
appears  there  ! — among  women  especially,  who  deceive  even 
more  than  men,  having  more  to  hide,  feeling  more,  living  more 
than  we  who  have  our  business,  pleasure,  ambition,  which 
carries  us  abroad.  Ours  are  the  great  strokes  of  misfortune, 
as  they  are  called,  and  theirs  the  small  miseries.  While  the 
male  thinks,  labors,  and  battles  without,  the  domestic  woes 
and  wrongs  are  the  lot  of  the  women  ;  and  the  little  ills  are  so 
bad,  so  infinitely  fiercer  and  bitterer  than  the  great,  that  I  would 
not  change  my  condition — no,  not  to  be  Helen,  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, Mrs.  Coutts,  or  the  luckiest  she  in  history. 

Well,  then,  in  the  manner  we  have  described  lived  the  Gann 
family.  Mr.  Gann  all  the  better  for  his  "  misfortunes,"  Mrs. 
Gann  little  the  worse  ;  the  two  young  ladies  greatly  improved 
by  the  circumstances,  having  been  cast  thereby  into  a  society 
where  their  expected  three  thousand  pounds  made  great 
heiresses  of  them  ;  and  poor  Caroline,  as  luckless  a  being  as 
any  that  the  wide  sun  shone  upon.     Better  to  be  alone  in  the 


A  STIABRY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


17 


world  and  utterly  friendless,  than  to  have  sham  friends  and  no 
sympathy ;  ties  of  kindred  which  bind  one  as  it  were  to  the 
corpse  of  relationship,  and  oblige  one  to  bear  through  life  the 
weight  and  the  embraces  of  this  lifeless,  cold  connection. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Caroline  would  ever  have  made 
use  of  this  metaphor,  or  suspected  that  her  connection  with  her 
mamma  and  sisters  was  anything  so  loathsome.  She  felt  that 
she  was  ill-treated,  and  had  no  companion  ;  but  was  not  on  that 
account  envious,  only  humble  and  depressed,  not  desiring  so 
much  to  resist  as  to  bear  injustice,  and  hardly  venturing  to 
think  for  herself.  This  tyranny  and  humility  served  her  in  place 
of  education,  and  formed  her  manners,  which  were  wonderfully 
gentle  and  calm.  It  was  strange  to  see  such  a  person  growing 
up  in  such  a  family ;  the  neighbors  spoke  of  her  with  much 
scornful  compassion.  "A  poor  half-witted  thing,"  they  said, 
"  who  would  not  say  bo  !  to  a  goose  ; "  and  I  think  it  is  one 
good  test  of  gentility  to  be  thus  looked  down  on  by  vulgar 
people. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  elder  girls  had  reached  their 
present  age  without  receiving  a  number  of  offers  of  marriage, 
and  been  warmly  in  love  a  great  many  times.  But  many  un- 
fortunate occurrences  had  compelled  them  to  remain  in  their 
virgin  condition.  There  was  an  attorney  who  had  proposed  to 
Rosalind  ;  but  finding  that  she  would  receive  only  750/.  down, 
instead  of  1500/.,  the  monster  had  jilted  her  pitilessly,  handsome 
as  she  was.  An  apothecary,  too,  had  been  smitten  by  her 
charms  ;  but  to  live  in  a  shop  was  beneath  the  dignity  of  a 
Wellesley  Macarty,  and  she  waited  for  better  things.  Lieuten- 
ant Swabber,  of  the  coast-guard  service,  had  lodged  two  months 
at  Gann's  ;  and  if  letters,  long  walks,  and  town-talk  could  settle 
a  match,  a  match  between  him  and  Isabella  must  have  taken 
place.  Well,  Isabella  was  not  married  ;  and  the  lieutenant,  a 
colonel  in  Spain,  seemed  to  have  given  up  all  thoughts  of  her. 
She  meanwhile  consoled  herself  with  agay  young  wine-merchant, 
who  had  lately  established  himself  at  Brighton,  kept  a  gig,  rode 
out  with  the  hounds,  and  was  voted  perfectly  genteel ;  and  there 
was  a  certain  French  marquess,  with  the  most  elegant  black 
mustaches,  who  had  made  a  vast  impression  upon  the  heart  of 
Rosalind,  having  met  her  first  at  the  circulating  library,  and 
afterwards,  by  the  most  extraordinary  series  of  chances, 
coming  upon  her  and  her  sister  daily  in  their  walks  upon 
the  pier. 

Meek  little  Caroline,  meanwhile,  trampled  upon  though  she 
was,  was  springing  up  to  womanhood  ;  and  though  pale,  freckled 

2 


1 8  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL   STORY. 

thin,  meanly  dressed,  liad  a  certain  cliarm  about  lier  which  some 
people  might  prefer  to  the  cheap  splendors  and  rude  red  and 
white  of  the  Alisses  Macarty.  In  fact  we  have  now  come  to  a 
period  of  her  histor)^  when,  to  the  amaze  of  her  mamma  and 
sisters,  and  not  a  little  to  the  satisfaction  of  James  Gann,  Esquire, 
she  actually  inspired  a  passion  in  the  breast  of  a  very  respectable 
young  man. 


CHAPTER    II. 

HOW    MRS.    GANN    RECEIVED    TWO    LODGERS. 

It  was  the  winter  season  when  the  events  recorded  in  this 
history  occurred  ;  and  as  at  that  period  not  one  out  of  a  thou- 
sand lodging-houses  in  Margate  are  let,  Mrs.  Gann,  who  generally 
submitted  to  occupy  her  own  first  and  second  floors  during  this 
cheerless  season,  considered  herself  more  than  ordinarily  lucky 
when  circumstances  occurred  which  brought  no  less  than  two 
lodgers  to  her  establishment. 

She  had  to  thank  her  daughters  for  the  first  inmate  ;  for,  as 
these  two  young  ladies  were  walking  one  day  down  their  own 
street,  talking  of  the  joys  of  the  last  season,  and  the  delight  of 
the  raffles  and  singing  at  the  libraries,  and  the  intoxicating 
pleasures  of  the  Vauxhall  balls,  they  were  remarked  and 
evidently  admired  by  a  young  gentleman  who  was  sauntering 
listlessly  up  the  street. 

He  stared,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  fascinating  girls 
stared  too,  and  put  each  other's  head  into  each  other's  bonnet, 
and  giggled  and  said,  "  Lor  !  "  and  then  looked  hard  at  the 
young  gentlemen  again.  Their  eyes  were  black,  their  cheeks 
were  very  red.  Fancy  how  Miss  Bella's  and  Miss  Linda's 
hearts  beat  when  the  gentleman,  dropping  his  glass  out  of  his 
eye,  actually  stepped  across  the  street,  and  said,  "  Ladies,  I  am 
seeking  for  lodgings,  and  should  be  glad  to  look  at  those  which 
I  see  are  to  let  in  your  house." 

"  How  did  the  conjuror  know  it  was  our  house  ?  "  thought 
Bella  and  Linda  (they  always  thought  in  couples).  From  the 
very  simple  fact  that  Miss  Bella  had  just  thrust  into  the  door  a 
latch-key. 

Most  bitterly  did  Mrs.  James  Gann  regret  that  she  had  not 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


^9 


on  her  best  gown  when  a  stranger — a  stranger  in  February — 
actually  called  to  look  at  the  lodgings.  She  made  up,  however, 
for  the  slovenliness  of  her  dress  by  the  dignity  of  her  demeanor  ; 
and  asked  the  gentleman  for  references,  informed  him  that  she 
was  a  gentlewoman,  and  that  he  would  have  peculiar  advan- 
tages in  her  establishment ;  and  finally,  agreed  to  receive  him 
at  the  rate  of  twenty  shillings  per  week.  The  bright  eyes  of  the 
young  ladies  had  done  the  business  ;  but  to  this  day  Mrs.  James 
(xann  is  convinced  that  her  peculiar  dignity  of  manner,  and 
great  fluency  of  brag  regarding  her  family,  have  been  the  means 
of  bringing  hundreds  of  lodgers  to  her  house,  who  but  for  her 
would  never  have  visited  it. 

"  Gents,"  said  Mr.  James  Gann,  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  that 
very  evening,  "  we  have  got  a  new  lodger,  and  I'll  stand  glasses 
round  to  his  jolly  good  health  ! '' 

The  new  lodger,  who  was  remarkable  for  nothing  except 
very  black  eyes,  a  sallow  face,  and  a  habit  of  smoking  cigars  in 
bed  until  noon,  gave  his  name  George  Brandon,  Esq.  As  to 
his  temper  and  habits,  wheniumibly  requested  by  Mrs.  Gann  to 
pay  in  advance,  he  laughed  and  presented  her  with  a  bank-note, 
never  quarrelled  with  a  single  item  in  her  bills,  walked  much, 
and  ate  two  mutton-chops  j^er  diem.  The  young  ladies,  who 
examined  all  the  boxes  and  letters  of  the  lodgers,  as  young 
ladies  will,  could  not  find  one  single  document  relative  to  their 
new  inmate,  except  a  tavern-bill  of  the  "  White  Hart,"  to  which 
the  name  of  George  Brandon,  Esquire,  was  prefixed.  Any 
other  papers  which  might  elucidate  his  history,  were  locked  up 
in  a  Bramah  box,  likewise  marked  G.  B.  ;  and  though  these 
were  but  unsatisfactory  points  by  which  to  judge  a  man's  char- 
acter, there  was  a  something  about  Mr.  Brandon  which  caused 
all  the  ladies  at  Mrs.  Gann's  to  vote  he  was  quite  a  gentleman. 

When  this  was  the  case,  I  am  happy  to  say  it  would  not  un- 
frequently  happen  that  Miss  Rosalind  or  Miss  Isabella  would 
appear  in  the  lodger's  apartments,  bearing  in  the  breakfast-cloth, 
or  blushingly  appearing  with  the  weekly  bill,  apologizing  for 
mamma's  absence,  "  and  hoping  that  everything  was  to  the 
gentleman's  liking." 

Both  the  Misses  Wellesley  Macarty  took  occasion  to  visit 
Mr.  Brandon  in  this  manner,  and  he  received  both  with  such  a 
fascinating  ease  and  gentleman-like  freedom  of  manner,  scan- 
ning their  points  from  head  to  foot,  and  fixing  his  great  black 
eyes  so  earnestly  on  their  faces,  that  the  blushing  creatures 
turned  away  abashed,  and  yet  pleased,  and  had  many  con\'er- 
sations  about  him. 


2  0  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

"Law,  IjcII,"  said  Miss  Rosalind,  "wliat  a  chap  that  Bran 
don  is  !  I  don't  half  like  him,  I  do  declare  !  "  Than  which 
there  can  be  no  greater  compliment  from  a  woman  to  a  man. 

"No  more  do  I  neither,"  says  Bell.  "The  man  stares  so, 
and  says  such  things  !  Just  now,  when  Becky  brought  his  paper 
and  sealing-wax — the  silly  girl  brought  black  and  red  too — I 
took  them  up  to  ask  which  he  would  ha\e,  and  what  do  you 
think  he  said  ?  " 

"  Well,  dear,  what  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gann. 

"  '  Miss  Bell,'  says  he,  looking  at  me,  and  with  such  eyes ! 
'  I'll  keep  everything:  the  red  wax,  because  it's  like  your  lips  ; 
the  black  wax,  because  it's  like  your  hair ;  and  the  satin  paper, 
because  it's  like  your  skin  ! '     Wasn't  it  genteel  ?  " 

"  Law,  now  I  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gann. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  think  it's  very  rude  !  "  said  Miss  Lindy  ; 
"  and  if  he'd  said  so  to  me,  Td  have  slapped  his  face  for  his 
imperence  !  "  And  much  to  her  credit,  Miss  Lindy  went  to 
his  room  ten  minutes  after  to  see  if  he  laoii/d  say  anything  to  her. 
What  Mr.  Brandon  said,  I  never  knew ;  but  the  little  pang  of 
envy  which  had  caused  Miss  Lindy  to  retort  sharply  upon  her 
sister,  had  given  place  to  a  pleased  good-humor,  and  she  al- 
lowed Bella  to  talk  about  the  new  lodger  as  much  as  ever  she 
liked. 

And  now  if  the  reader  is  anxious  to  know  what  was  Mr. 
Brandon's  character,  he  had  better  read  the  following  letter 
from  him.  It  was  addressed  to  no  less  a  person  than  a  vis- 
count ;  and  given,  perhaps,  with  some  little  ostentation  to 
Becky,  the  maid,  to  carry  to  the  post.  Now  Becky,  before  she 
executed  such  errands,  always  showed  the  letters  to  her  mis- 
tress or  one  of  the  young  ladies  (it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
Miss  Caroline  was  a  whit  less  curious  on  these  matters  than  her 
sisters)  ;  and  when  the  family  beheld  the  name  of  Lord  Vis- 
count Cinqbars  upon  the  superscription,  their  respect  for  their 
lodger  was  greater  than  ever  it  had  been  : — 

"Margate,  February,  1835. 
"  My  dear  Viscount, — For  a  reason  I  have,  on  coming  down  to  Margate,  I  with  much 
gravity  informed  the  people  of  the  '  White  Hart'  that  my  name  was  lirandon,  and  intend 
to  bear  that  honorable  appellation  during  my  stay.  For  the  same  reason  (I  am  a  modest 
man,  and  love  to  do  gfK)d  in  secret).  I  left  tlie  public  hotel  immediately,  and  am  now 
housed  in  private  lodgings,  humble,  and  at  a  humble  )>rice.  1  am  here,  tliank  heaven,  quite 
alone.  Robinson  Crusoe  had  as  much  society  in  his  island,  as  I  in  this  of  Tlianet.  In 
compensation  I  sleep  a  great  deal,  do  nothing,  and  walk  much,  silent,  by  the  side  of  the 
roaring  sea,  like  Calchas,  priest  of  Apollo. 

"The  fact  is,  that  until  papa's  wrath  is  appeased.  I  must  live  with  the  utmost  meekness 
and  humility,  and  have  barely  enough  money  in  my  possession  to  pay  such  small  current 
expenses  as  fall  on  me  here,  where  strangers  are  many  and  credit  does  not  exist.  I  pray 
you,  therefore,  to  tell  Mr.  Snipson  the  tailor,  Mr.  Jackson  the  bootmaker,  honest  .Solomon- 
son  the  discounter  of  bills,  and  all  such  friends  in  London  and  Oxford  as  may  make  in- 
quiries  after  nie,  that   I  am  at  this  very  moment  at  the  city  of  Munich  in  Bavaria,  from 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  jy 

which  I  shall  not  return  until  my  marriage  with  Miss  Goldmore,  the  great  Indian  heiress; 
who,  upon  my  honor,  will  have  me,  1  believe,  any  day  for  the  asking. 

"  Nothing  else  will  satisfy  my  honored  father,  1  know,  whose  purse  has  already  bled 
pretty  freely  for  me,  I  must  confess,  and  who  has  taken  the  great  oath  that  never  is  broken, 
to  bleed  no  more  unless  this  marriage  is  brought  about.  Come  it  must.  I  can't  work,  I 
can't  starve,  and  I  can't  live  under  a  thousand  a  year. 

"  Here,  to  be  sure,  the  charges  are  not  enormous  ;  for  your  edification,  read  my  week's 
bill:- 

'  George  Brandon,  Esquire, 

'  To  Mrs.  James  Gann. 

£.  s.  d. 

A  week's  lodging i     o    o 

Breakfast,  cream,  eggs 090 

Dinner  (fourteen  mutton-chops)     .         .         .  o  10     6 

Fire,  boot-cleaning,  &c 036 

£230 

'Settled,  Juliana  Gann.' 

"  Juliana  Gann  !  Is  it  not  a  sweet  name?  it  sprawls  over  half  the  paper.  Could  you 
but  see  the  owner  of  the  name,  my  dear  fellow!  I  love  to  examine  the  customs  of  natives 
of  all  countries,  and  upon  my  word  there  are  some  barbarians  in  our  own  less  known,  and 
more  worthy  of  being  known,  than  Hottentots,  wild  Irish,  Otaheiteans,  or  any  such  sav- 
ages. If  you  could  see  the  airs  that  this  woman  gives  herself  ;  the  rouge,  ribands,  rings, 
and  other  female  gimcracks  that  she  wears  ;  if  you  could  hear  her  reminiscences  of  past 
times,  '  when  she  and  Mr.  Gann  moved  in  the  very  genteelest  circles  of  society  ; '  of  the 
peerage,  which  she  knows  by  heart ;  and  of  the  fashionable  novels,  in  every  word  of  wliich 
she  believes,  you  would  be  proud  of  your  order,  and  admire  the  intense  respect  which  tht 
ca7taiUe  show  towards  it.  There  never  was  such  an  old  woman,  not  even  our  tutor  at 
Christchurch. 

"There  is  a  he  Gann,  a  vast,  bloated  old  man,  in  a  rough  coat,  who  has  met  me  once, 
and  asked  me,  with  a  grin,  if  my  mutton-chops  was  to  my  liking?  The  satirical  monster! 
What  can  I  eat  in  this  place  but  mutton-chops?  A  great  bleeding  beef-steak,  or  a  filthy, 
reeking^/^o^  a  I'eau,  with  a  turnip  poultice  ?  I  should  die  if  I  did.  As  for  fish  in  a  watering- 
place,  I  never  touch  it  ;  it  is  sure  to  be  bad.  Nor  care  I  for  little  sinewy,  dry,  black-legged 
fowls.  Cutlets  are  my  only  resource  ;  I  have  them  nicely  enough  broiled  by  a  little  humble 
companion  of  the  family  (a  companion,  ye  gods,  in  this  family!),  who  blushed  hugely  when 
she  confessed  that  the  cooking  was  hers,  and  that  her  name  was  Caroline.  F'or  drink  I  in- 
dulge in  gin,  of  which  I  consume  two  wine-glasses  daily,  in  two  tumblers  of  cold  water  ;  it 
is  the  only  liquor  that  one  can  be  sure  to  find  genuine  in  a  common  house  in  England. 

"  This  Gann,  I  take  it,  has  similar  likings,  for  I  hear  him  occasionally  at  midnight 
floundering  up  the  stairs  (his  boots  lie  dirty  in  the  passage) — floundering,  I  say,  up  the 
stairs,  and  cursing  the  candlestick,  whence  escape  now  and  anon  the  snuffers  and  extin- 
guisher, and  with  brazen  rattle  disturb  the  silence  of  the  night.  Thrice  a  week,  at  least, 
does  Gann  breakfast  in  bed — sure  sign  of  pridian  intoxication  ;  and  thrice  a  week,  in  the 
morning,  I  hear  a  hoarse  voice  roaring  for 'my  soda-water.'  How  long  have  the -rogues 
drunk  soda-water  ? 

'  At  nine,  Mrs.  Gann  and  daughters  are  accustomed  to  breakfast  ;  a  handsome  pair  of 
girls,  truly,  and  much  followed,  as  I  hear,  in  the  quarter.  These  dear  creatures  are  always 
r^aying  me  visits — visits  with  the  tea-kettle,  visits  with  the  newspaper  (one  brings  it,  and 
one  comes  for  it)  ;  but  the  one  is  always  at  the  other's  heels,  and  so  one  cannot  show  one- 
self to  be  that  dear,  gay  seducing  fellow  that  one  has  been,  at  home  and  on  the  Continent. 
Do  you  remember  cette  chere  marquise  at  Pan?  That  cursed  conjugal  pistol-bullet  still 
plays  the  deuce  with  my  shoulder.  Do  you  remember  Betty  Bundy,  the  butcher's 
daughter?  A  pretty  race  of  fools  are  we  to  go  mad  after  such  women,  and  risk  all — oaths, 
prayers,  promises,  long  wearisome  courtships — for  what  ? — for  vanity,  truly.  When  the 
battle  is  over,  behold  your  conquest !  Betty  Bundy  is  a  vulgar  country  wench  ;  and  cctte 
belle  marquise  is  old,  rouged,  and  has  false  hair.  Vanilas  vaniiatutn  !  what  a  moral  man 
I  will  be  some  day  or  other ! 

"  I  have  found  an  old  acquaintance  (and  be  hanged  to  him  !),  who  has  come  to  lodge  in 
this  very  house.  Do  you  recollect  at  Rome  a  young  artist,  Fitch  by  name,  tlie  handsome 
gaby  with  the  large  beard,  that  mad  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  was  doubly  mad  about  ?  On  the 
second  floor  of  Mrs.  Gann's  house  dwells  this  youth-  His  beard  brings  the  gamins  of  the 
streets  trooping  and  yelling  about  him  ;  his  fine  braided  coats  have  grown  somewhat 
shabby  now  ;  and  the  poor  fellow  is,  like  your  humble  servant  (by  the  way,  have  you  a  500 
franc  billet  to  spare?) — like  your  humble  servant,  I  say,  very  low  in  pocket.  The  young 
Andrea  bears  up  gayly,  however ;   twangles  his  guitar,  paints  the  worst  pictures  in  the 


22  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

world,  and  pens  sonnets  to  liis  imaginary  mistress's  eyebrow.  Luckily  the  rogue  did  not 
know  my  name,  or  1  should  have  been  compelled  to  unbosom  to  him  ;  and  wlien  I  called 
out  to  him,  dubious  as  to  my  name,  '  Don't  you  know  me  ?  I  met  you  in  Rome.  My  name 
is  Brandon,'  the  painter  was  perfectly  satisfied,  and  majestically  bade  me  welcome. 

"  Fancy  the  continence  of  this  young  Joseph — lie  has  absolutely  run  away  from  Mrs. 
Carrickfergus!  '  Sir,' said  he,  with  some  hesitation  and  blushes,  when  I  questioned  liim 
about  the  widow,  '  I  was  compelled  to  leave  Rome  in  consequence  of  the  fatal  fondness  of 
that  woman.  I  am  an  'andsome  man,  sir — I  know  it — all  the  chaps  in  the  Academy  want 
me  for  a  model ;  and  that  woman,  sir,  is  sixty.  Do  you  think  I  would  ally  myself  with 
her;  sacrifice  my  happiness  for  the  sake  of  a  creature  that's  as  hu£;ly  as  an  'arpy  ?  I'd 
rather  starve,  sir.  I'd  rather  give  up  my  hart  and  my  'opes  of  rising  in  it  than  do  a  haction 
»o  disA/jA/jonorable.' 

"There  is  a  stock  of  virtue  for  you!  and  the  poor  fellow  half-starved.  He  lived  at 
Rome  upon  the  seven  portraits  that  the  Carrickfergus  ordered  of  him,  and,  as  I  fancy,  now 
does  not  make  twenty  pounds  in  a  year,  O  rare  chastity!  O  wondrous  silly  hopes !  O 
tnotus  ayiitnorHtn,  atgue  O  certaiitina  tanta! — pulveris  exigui  jactit,  in  such  an  insignifi- 
cant little  lump  of  mud  as  this!  Why  the  deuce  does  not  the  fool  marry  the  widow?  His 
betters  would.  There  was  a  captain  of  dragoons,  an  Italian  prince,  and  four  sons  of  Irish 
peers,  all  at  her  feet  ;  but  the  Cockney's  beard  and  whiskers  have  overcome  them  all. 
Here  my  paper  has  come  to  an  end  ;  and  I  have  the  honour  to  bid  your  lordshiu.a  respect- 
ful farewell.  # 

"G.  B." 

Of  the  young  gentleman  who  goes  by  the  name  of  Brandon, 
the  reader  of  the  above  letter  will  not  be  so  misguided,  we 
trust  as  to  have  a  very  exalted  opinion.  The  noble  viscount 
read  this  document  to  a  supper-party  in  Christchurch,  in  Ox- 
ford, and  left  it  in  a  bowl  of  milk-punch  ;  whence  a  scout  ab- 
stracted it,  and  handed  it  over  to  us.  My  lord  was  twenty 
years  of  age  when  he  received  the  epistle,  and  had  spent  a 
couple  of  years  abroad,  before  going  to  the  university,  under 
the  guardianship  of  the  worthy  individual  who  called  himself 
George  Brandon. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  the  son  of  a  half-pay  colonel,  of  good 
family,  who,  honoring  the  great  himself,  thought  his  son  would 
vastly  benefit  by  an  acquaintance  with  them,  and  sent  him  to 
Eton,  at  cruel  charges  upon  a  slender  purse.  From  Eton  the 
lad  went  to  Oxford,  took  honors  there,  frequented  the  best 
society,  followed  with  a  kind  of  proud  obsequiousness  all  the 
tufts  of  the  university,  and  left  it  owing  exactly  two  thousand 
pounds.  Then  there  came  storms  at  home  ;  fury  on  the  part  of 
the  stern  old  "governor;  "  and  final  payment  of  the  debt.  But 
while  this  settlement  was  pending,  Master  Cieorge  had  contract- 
ed many  more  debts  among  bill-discounters,  and  was  glad  to 
fly  to  the  Continent  as  tutor  to  young  Lord  Cinqbars,  in  whose 
company  he  learned  eveiy  one  of  the  vices  in  Europe  ;  and 
having  a  good  natural  genius,  and  a  heart  not  unkindly,  had 
used  these  qualities  in  such  admirable  manner  as  to  be  at 
twenty-seven  utterly  ruined  in  purse  and  principle — an  idler,  a 
spendthrift,  and  a  glutton.  He  was  free  of  his  money :  would 
spend  his  last  guinea  for  a  sensual  gratification  ;  would  borrow 
from  his  neediest  friend  ;  had  no  kind  of  conscience  or  remorse 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


23 


left,  but  believed  himself  to  be  a  good-natured  devil-may-care 
fellov,' :  had  a  good  deal  of  wit,  and  indisputably  good  man- 
ners, and  a  pleasing,  dashing  frankness  in  conversation  with 
men.  I  should  like  to  know  how  many  such  scoundrels  our 
universities  have  turned  out ;  and  how  much  ruin  has  been 
caused  by  that  accursed  system  which  is  called  in  England 
"  the  education  of  a  gentleman."  Go,  my  son,  for  ten  years  to 
a  public  school,  that  "  world  in  miniature  ; "  "  learn  to  fight  for 
yourself  "  against  the  time  when  your  real  struggles  shall  begin. 
Begin  to  be  selfish  at  ten  years  of  age  ;  study  for  other  ten 
years  ;  get  a  competent  knowledge  of  boxing,  swimming,  row- 
ing, and  cricket,  with  a  pretty  knack  of  Latin  hexameters  and 
a  decent  smattering  of  Greek  plays, — do  this  and  a  fond  father 
shall  bless  you — bless  the  two  thousand  pounds  which  he  has 
spent  in  acquiring  all  these  benefits  for  you.  And,  besides, 
what  else  have  you  not  learned .''  You  have  been  many  hun- 
dreds of  times  to  chapel,  and  have  learned  to  consider  the  re- 
ligious service  performed  there  as  the  vainest  parade  in  the 
world.  If  your  father  is  a  grocer,  you  have  been  beaten  for 
his  sake,  and  have  learned  to  be  ashamed  of  him.  You  have 
learned  to  forget  (as  how  should  you  remember,  being  separ- 
ated from  them  for  three-fourths  of  your  time  ?)  the  ties  and 
natural  affections  of  home.  You  have  learned,  if  you  have  a 
kindly  heart  and  an  open  hand,  to  compete  with  associates 
much  more  wealthy  than  yourself ;  and  to  consider  money  as 
not  much,  but  honor — the  honor  of  dining  and  consorting  with 
your  betters — as  a  great  deal.  All  this  does  the  public-school 
and  college  boy  learn  ;  and  woe  be  to  his  knowledge  !  Alas, 
what  natural  tenderness  and  kindly  clinging  filial  affection  is  he 
taught  to  trample  on  and  despise  !  My  friend  Brandon  had  gone 
through  this  process  of  education,  and  had  been  irretrievably 
ruined  by  it —  his  heart  and  his  honesty  had  been  ruined 
by  it,  that  is  to  say ;  and  he  had  received,  in  return  for  them, 
a  small  quantity  of  classics  and  mathematics — pretty  compen- 
sation for  all  he  had  lost  in  gaining  them  ! 

But  I  am  wandering  most  absurdly  from  the  point ;  right 
or  wrong,  so  nature  and  education  had  formed  Mr.  Brandon, 
who  is  one  of  a  considerable  class.  Well,  this  young  gentle- 
man was  established  at  Mrs.  Ganu's  house  ;  and  we  are  obliged 
to  enter  into  all  these  explanations  concerning  him,  because 
they  are  necessary  to  the  right  understanding  of  our  story — ■ 
Brandon  not  being  altogether  a  bad  man,  nor  much  worse  than 
many  a  one  who  goes  through  a  course  of  regular  selfish  swind- 
ling all  his  life  long,  and  dies  religious,  resigned,  proud  of  him- 


24 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STOA'V. 


self,  and  universally  respected  by  others  ;  for  this  eminent 
advantage  has  tlie  getting-and-keeping  scoundrel  over  the  ex 
travagant  and  careless  one. 

One  day,  then,  as  he  was  gazing  from  the  window  of  his 
lodging-house,  a  cart,  containing  a  vast  number  of  easels,  port- 
folios, wooden  cases  of  pictures,  and  a  small  carpet-bag  that 
might  hold  a  change  of  clothes,  stopped  at  the  door.  The 
vehicle  was  accompanied  by  a  remarkable  young  fellow — dressed 
in  a  frock-coat  covered  over  with  frogs,  a  dirty  turned-down 
shirt-collar,  with  a  blue  satin  cravat,  and  a  cap  placed  wonder- 
fully on  one  ear — who  had  evidently  hired  apartments  at  Mr. 
Gann's.  This  new  lodger  was  no  other  than  ]\Ir.  Andrew  Fitch  ; 
or,  as  he  wrote  on  his  cards,  without  the  prefix, 


Andrea  Fitch. 


Preparations  had  been  made  at  Gann's  for  the  reception  of 
Mr.  Fitch,  whose  aunt  (an  auctioneer's  lady  in  the  town)  had 
made  arrangements  that  he  should  board  and  lodge  with  the 
Gann  family,  and  have  the  apartments  on  the  second  floor  as 
his  private  rooms.  In  these,  then,  young  Andrea  was  installed. 
He  was  a  youth  of  a  poetic  temperament,  loving  solitude  ;  and 
where  is  such  to  be  found  more  easily  than  on  the  storm-washed 
shores  of  Margate  in  the  winter  ?  Then  the  boarding-house  keep- 
ers have  shut  up  their  houses  and  gone  away  in  anguish  ;  then 
the  taverns  take  their  carpets  up,  and  you  can  have  your  choice 
of  a  hundred  and  twenty  beds  in  any  one  of  them  ;  then  but  one 
dismal  waiter  remains  to  superintend  this  vast  echoing  pile  of 
loneliness,  and  the  landlord  pines  for  summer  ;  then  the  flys 
for  Ramsgate  stand  tenantless  beside  the  pier  ;  and  about  four 
sailors,  in  pea-jackets,  are  to  be  seen  in  the  three  principal 
streets  ;  in  the  rest,  silence,  closed  shutters,  torpid  chimneys 
enjoying  their  unnatural  winter  sinecure — not  tlie  clack  of  a 
patten  echoing  over  the  cold  dry  flags  ! 

This  solitude  had  beta  chosen  by  Mr.  Brandon  for  good 
reasons  of  his  own  ;  Gann  and  his  family  would  haVe  fled,  but 
that  they  had  no  other  house  wherein  to  take  refuge  ;  and  Mrs. 
Hammerton,  the  auctioneer's  lady,  felt  so  keenly  the  kindness 
which  she  was  doing  to  Mrs.  Gann,  in  providing  her  with  a 
lodger  at  such  a  period,  that  she  considered  herself  fully  justi- 
fied  in  extracting  from  the    latter  a  bonus   of   two   guineas, 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  25 

threatening  on  refusal  to  send  her  darhng  nephew  to  a  rival 
establishment  over  the  way. 

Andrea  was  here  then,  in  the  loneliness  that  he  loved, — a 
fantastic  youth,  who  lived  but  for  his  art ;  to  whom  the  world 
was  like  the  Coburg  Theatre,  and  he  in  a  magnificent  costume 
acting  a  principal  part.  His  art,  and  his  beard  and  whiskers, 
were  the  darlings  of  his  heart.  His  long  pale  hair  fell  over  a 
high  polished  brow,  which  looked  wonderfully  thoughtful ;  and 
yet  no  man  was  more  guiltless  of  thinking.  He  was  always 
putting  himself  into  attitudes  ;  he  never  spoke  :tlie  truth  ;  and 
was  so  entirely  affected  and  absurd,  as  to  be  quite  honest  at 
last :  for  it  is  my  belief  that  the  man  did  not  know  truth  from 
falsehood  any  longer,  and  was  when  he  was  alone,  when  he 
was  in  company,  nay,  when  he  was  unconscious  and  sound 
asleep  snoring  in  bed,  one  complete  lump  of  affectation.  When 
his  apartments  on  the  second  floor  were  arranged  according  to 
his  fancy,  they  made  a  tremendous  show.  He  had  a  large 
Gothic  chest,  in  which  he  put  his  wardrobe  (namely,  two 
velvet  waistcoats,  four  varied  satin  under  ditto,  two  pairs 
braided  trousers,  two  shirts,  half-a-dozen  false  collars,  and  a 
couple  of  pairs  of  dreadfully  dilapidated  Blucher  boots).  He 
had  some  pieces  of  armor ;  some  China  jugs  and  Venetian 
glasses  ;  some  bits  of  old  damask  rags,  to  drape  his  doors 
and  windows  ;  and  a  rickety  lay  figure,  in  a  Spanish  hat  and 
cloak,  over  which  slung  a  long  Toledo  rapier,  and  a  guitar, 
with  a  ribbon  of  dirty  sky-blue. 

Such  was  our  poor  fellow's  stock  in  trade.  He  had  some 
volumes  of  poems — "  Lalla  Rookh,"  and  the  sterner  composi- 
tions of  Byron  :  for,  to  do  him  justice,  he  hated  "  Don  Juan," 
and  a  woman  was  in  his  eyes  an  angel ;  a  /;angel,  alas  !  he 
would  call  her,  for  nature  and  the  circumstances  of  his  family 
had  taken  sad  Cockney  advantages  over  Andrea's  pronunciation. 

The  Misses  Wellesley  Macarty  were  not,  however,  very 
squeamish  with  regard  to  grammar,  and,  in  this  dull  season, 
voted  Mr.  Fitch  an  elegant  young  fellow.  His  immense  beard 
and  whiskers  gave  them  the  highest  opinion  of  his  genius  ;  and 
before  long  the  intimacy  between  the  young  people  was  con- 
siderable, for  Mr.  Fitch  insisted  upon  drawing  the  portraits  of 
the  whole  family.  He  painted  Mrs.  Gann  in  her  rouge  and 
ribbons,  as  described  by  Mr.  Brandon  ;  ]\Ir.  Gann,  who  said 
that  his  picture  would  be  very  useful  to  the  artist,  as  every  soul 
in  Margate  knew  him  ;  and  the  Misses  Macarty  (a  neat  group, 
representing  Miss  Bella  embracing  Miss  Linda,  who  was  point- 
hig  to  a  pianoforte). 


26  ^i  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  do  my  Carry  next  ?  "  said  Mr.  C'.ann,  ex 
pressing  his  approbation  of  the  last  picture. 

"  Law,  sir,"  said  Miss  Linda,  "  Carry,  with  lier  red  hair ! — 
it  would  be  ojus.'" 

"  Mr.  Fitch  might  as  well  paint  ]>eckv,  our  maid,"  said  Miss 
Bella. 

"Carry  is  quite  impossible,  Gann,"  said  IVtrs.  Gann  ;  "she 
hasn't  a  gown  lit  to  be  seen  in.  She's  not  been  at  church  for 
thirteen  Sundays  in  consequence." 

"  And  more  shame  for  you,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Gann,  who 
liked  his  child  ;  "  Carry  s/ia/l  have  a  gown,  and  the  best  of 
gowns."  And  jingling  three  and  twenty  shillings  in  his  pocket, 
Mr.  Gann  determined  to  spend  them  all  in  the  purchase  of  a 
robe  for  Carry.  But  alas,  the  gown  never  came  ;  half  the  money 
was  spent  that  very  evening  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

"  is  that — that  young  lady,  your  daughter  ?  "  said  Mr.  Fitch, 
surprised,  for  he  fancied  Carry  was  a  humble  companion  of  the 
family. 

"Yes,  she  is,  and  a  very  good  daughter,  too,  sir,"  answered 
Mr.  Gann.  Fetch  and  Carry  I  call  her,  or  else  Carryvan — she's 
so  useful.     Ain't  you.  Carry  ?  " 

"I'm  very  glad  if  I  am,  papa,"  said  the  young  lady,  who 
was  blushing  violently,  and  in  whose  presence  all  this  conver- 
sation had  been  carried  on. 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  Miss,"  said  her  mother ;  "you  are  very 
expensive  to  us,  that  you  are,  and  need  not  brag  about  the  work 
you  do.  You  would  not  live  on  charity,  would  you,  like  some 
folks  ? "  (here  she  looked  fiercely  at  Mr.  Gann)  "  and  if  your 
sisters  and  me  starve  to  keep  you  and  some  folks,  I  presume 
you  are  bound  to  make  us  some  return." 

When  any  allusion  was  made  to  Mr.  Gann's  idleness  and 
extravagance,  or  his  lady  showed  herself  in  any  way  inclined  to 
be  angry,  it  was  honest  James's  habit  not  to  answer,  but  to  take 
his  hat  and  walk  abroad  to  the  public  house  ;  or  if  haply  she 
scolded  him  at  night,  he  would  turn  his  back  and  fall  a-snoring. 
These  were  the  only  remedies  he  found  for  Mrs.  James's  bad 
temper,  and  the  fust  of  them  he  adopted  on  hearing  these  words 
of  his  lady,  which  we  have  just  now  transcribed. 

Poor  Caroline  had  not  her  father's  refuge  of  flight,  but  was 
obliged  to  stay  and  listen ;  and  a  wondrous  eloquence,  God 
wot !  had  Mrs.  Gann  upon  the  subject  of  her  daughter's  ill- 
conduct.  The  first  lecture  Mr.  Fitch  heard,  he  set  down  Caro- 
line for  a  monster.  Was  she  not  idle,  sulky,  scornful,  and  a 
sloven  .?     For  these  and  many  more  of  her  daughter's  vices  Mrs, 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  27 

Gann  vouched,  declaring  that  C'aroUne's  misbehavior  was  has- 
tening her  own  death,  and  finishing  by  a  fainting-fit.  Jn  the 
presence  of  all  these  charges,  there  stood  Miss  Caroline,  tlamb, 
stupid,  and  careless  ;  nay,  when  the  fainting-fit  came  on,  and 
Mrs.  Gann  fell  back  on  the  sofa,  the  unfeeling  girl  took  the 
opportunity  to  retire,  and  never  offered  to  smack  her  mamma's 
hands,  to  give  her  the  smelling-bottle,  or  to  restore  her  with  a 
glass  of  water. 

One  stood  close  at  hand  ;  for  Mr.  Fitch,  when  this  first  fit 
occurred,  was  sitting  in  the  Gann  parlor,  painting  that  lady's 
portrait ;  and  he  was  making  towards  her  with  this  tumbler, 
when  Miss  Linda  cried  out,  '*  Stop!  the  water's  full  of  paint ;" 
and  straightway  burst  out  laughing.  Mrs.  Gann  jumped  up  at 
this,  cured  suddenly,  and  left  the  room,  looking  somewhat  fool- 
ish. 

"  You  don't  know  Ma,"  said  Miss  Linda,  still  giggling ; 
"  she's  always  fainting." 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  cried  Fitch  \  "  very  nervous,  I  suppose  !  " 

"  Oh,  very  1  "  answered  the  lady,  exchanging  arch  glances 
with  Miss  Bella. 

"  Poor  dear  lady  !  "  continued  the  artist ;  "  I  pity  her  from 
my  hinmost  soul.  Doesn't  the  himmortal  bard  of  Havon  ob- 
serve, how  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to  have  a  thank- 
less child }  And  is  it  true,  ma'am,  that  that  young  woman  has 
been  the  ruin  of  her  family  ?  " 

"  Ruin  of  her  fiddlestick  !  "  replied  Miss  Bella.  "  Law, 
Mr.  Fitch,  you  don't  know  Ma  yet ;  she  is  in  one  of  her  tan- 
trums." 

"What,  then,  it  isiit  true?"  cried  simple-minded  Fitch. 
To  which  neither  of  the  young  ladies  made  any  answer  in 
words,  nor  could  the  little  artist  comprehend  why  they  looked 
at  each  other,  and  burst  out  laughing.  But  he  retired  ponder- 
ing on  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  ;  and  being  a  ^•er}^  soft 
young  fellow,  most  implicitly  believed  the  accusations  of  poor 
dear  Mrs.  Gann,  and  thought  her  daughter  Caroline  was  no 
better  than  a  Regan  or  Goneril. 

A  time,  however,  was  to  come  when  he  should  believe  her  to 
be  a  most  pure  and  gentle  Cordelia  \  and  of  this  change  in 
Fitch's  opinions  we  shall  speak  in  Chapter  IIL 


28  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    SHABBY    GENTEFX    DINNER,    AND    OTHER    INCIDENTS    OF   A 
LIKE    NATURE. 

Mr.  Brandon's  letter  to  Lord  Cinqbars  produced,  as  we 
have  said,  a  great  impression  upon  the  family  of  Ciann  ;  an  im- 
pression which  was  considerably  increased  by  their  lodger's 
subsequent  behavior  :  for  although  the  persons  with  whom  he 
now  associated  were  of  a  very  vulgar,  ridiculous  kind,  they 
were  by  no  means  so  low  or  ridiculous  that  Mr.  Brandon  should 
not  wish  to  appear  before  them  in  the  most  advantageous  light ; 
and,  accordingly,  he  gave  himself  the  greatest  airs  when  in 
their  company,  and  bragged  incessantly  of  his  acquaintance 
and  familiarity  with  the  nobility.  Mr.  Brandon  was  a  tuft- 
hunter  of  the  genteel  sort;  his  pride  being  quite  as  slavish,  and 
his  haughtiness  as  mean  and  cringing,  in  fact,  as  poor  Mrs. 
Gann's  stupid  wonder  and  respect  for  all  the  persons  whose 
names  are  written  with  titles  before  them.  O  free  and 
happy  Britons,  what  a  miserable,  truckling,  cringing  race  ye 
are  ! 

The  reader  has  no  doubt  encountered  a  number  of  such 
swaggerers  in  the  course  of  his  conversation  with  the  world — 
men  of  a  decent  middle  rank,  who  afifect  to  despise  it,  and  herd 
only  with  persons  of  the  fashion.  This  is  an  offence  in  a  man 
which  none  of  us  can  forgive  ;  we  call  him  tuft-hunter,  lick- 
spittle, sneak,  unmanly  ;  we  hate,  and  profess  to  despise  him. 
I  fear  it  is  no  such  thing.  We  envy  Lickspittle,  that  is  the 
fact ;  and  therefore  hate  him.  Were  he  to  plague  us  with  the 
stories  of  Jones  and  Brown,  our  familiars,  the  man  would  be  a 
simple  bore,  his  stories  heard  patiently  ;  but  so  soon  as  he 
talks  of  my  lord  or  the  duke,  we  are  in  arms  against  him.  I 
have  seen  a  whole  merry  party  in  Russell  Square  grow  suddenly 
gloomy  and  dumb,  because  a  pert  barrister,  in  a  loud,  shrill 
voice,  told  a  story  of  Lord  This  or  the  Marquis  of  That.  We 
all  hated  that  man  ;  and  I  would  lay  a  wager  that  every  one  of 
the  fourteen  persons  assembled  round  the  boiled  turkey  and 
saddle  of  mutton  (not  to  mention  side-dishes  from  the  pastry- 
cook's opposite  the  British  Museum) — I  would  wager,  I  say, 
that  every  one  was  muttering  inwardly,  "  A  plague  on  that 
fellow  !  he  knows  a  lord,  and  I  never  spoke  to  more  than  three 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


29 


in  the  whole  course  of  my  life."  To  our  betters  \ve  can  recon- 
cile ourselves,  if  you  please,  respecting  t'lem  very  sincerely, 
laughing  at  their  jokes,  making  allowance  for  their  stupidities, 
meekly  suffering  their  insolence ;  but  we  can't  pardon  our 
equals  going  beyond  us.  A  friend  of  mine  who  lived  amicably 
and  happily  among  his  friends  and  relatives  at  Hackney,  was 
on  a  sudden  disowned  by  the  latter,  cut  by  the  former,  and 
doomed  in  innumerable  prophecies  to  ruin,  because  he  kept  a 
footboy, — a  harmless  little  blowsy-faced  urchin,  in  light  snuff- 
colored  clothes,  glistening  over  with  sugar-loaf  buttons.  There 
is  another  man,  a  great  man,  a  literary  man,  whom  the  public 
loves,  and  who  took  a  sudden  leap  from  obscurity  into  fame 
and  wealth.  This  was  a  crime ;  but  he  bore  his  rise  with  so 
much  modesty,  that  even  his  brethren  of  the  pen  did  not  envy 
him.  One  luckless  day  he  set  up  a  one-horse  chaise  ;  from  that 
minute  he  was  doomed. 

"  Have  you  seen  his  new  carriage  ?  "  says  Snarley. 

"Yes,"  sa3^s  Yow  ;  "he's  so  consumedly  proud  of  it,  that 
he  can't  see  his  old  friends  while  he  drives." 

"  Ith  it  a  donkey-cart,"  lisps  Simper,  "  thith  gwand  cawwaige  ? 
I  always  thaid  that  the  man,  from  hith  thtile,  wath  fitted  to  be 
avewy  dethent  cothtermonger." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cries  old  Candour,  "  a  sad  pity  indeed  ! — dread- 
fully extravagant,  I'm  told — bad  health — expensive  familv — 
works  going  down  every  day — and  now  he  must  set  up  a  car- 
riage forsooth  !  " 

Snarley,  Yow,  Simper,  Candour,  hate  their  brother.  If  he 
is  ruined,  they  will  be  kind  to  him  and  just  ;  but  he  is  success- 
ful, and  woe  be  to  him  ! 

This  trifling  digression  of  half  a  page  or  so,  although  it  seems 
to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  story  in  hand,  has,  nevertheless, 
the  strongest  relation  to  it ;  and  you  shall  hear  what. 

In  one  word,  then,  Mr.  Brandon  bragged  so  much,  and  as- 
sumed such  airs  of  superiorit}^,  that  after  a  while  he  perfectly 
disgusted  Mrs.  Gann  and  the  Misses  Macarty,  who  were  gentle- 
folks themselves,  and  did  not  at  all  like  his  way  of  telling  them 
that  he  was  their  better,  Mr.  Fitch  was  swallowed  up  in  his 
hart  as  he  called  it,  and  cared  nothing  for  Brandon's  airs. 
Gann,  being  a  low-spirited  fellow,  completely  submitted  to  Mr. 
Brandon,  and  looked  up  to  him  with  deepest  wonder.  And  poor 
little  Caroline  followed  her  father's  faith,  and  in  six  weeks  after 
Mr.  Brandon's  arrival  at  the  lod-^ings  had  grown  to  believe  him 
the   most   perfect,  finished,   polii!:ed,   agreeable  of   mankind 


30 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


Indeed,  the  poor  girl  had  never  seen  a  gentleman  before,  and 
towards  such  her  gentle  heart  turned  instinctively.  Brandon 
never  offended  her  by  hard  words  ;  insulted  her  by  cruel  scorn, 
such  as  she  met  with  from  her  mother  and  her  sisters  ;  there 
was  a  quiet  manner  about  the  man  quite  different  to  any  that 
she  had  before  seen  amongst  the  acquaintances  of  her  family  ; 
and  if  he  assumed  a  tone  of  superiority  in  his  conversation  with 
her  and  the  rest,  Caroline  felt  that  he  was  their  superior,  and 
as  such  admired  and  respected  him. 

What  happens  when  in  the  innocent  bosom  of  a  girl  of  six- 
teen such  sensations  arise  .''  What  has  happened  ever  since  the 
world  began .?. 

I  have  said  that  Miss  Caroline  had  no  friend  in  the  world 
but  her  father,  and  must  here  take  leave  to  recall  that  assertion  , 
— a  friend  she  most  certainly  had,  and  that  was  honest  Becky, 
the  smutty  maid,  whose  name  has  been  mentioned  before.  Miss 
Caroline  had  learned  in  the  course  of  a  life  spent  under  the 
tyranny  of  her  mamma,  some  of  the  notions  of  the  latter,  and 
would  have  been  very  much  offended  to  call  Becky  her  friend  ; 
but  friends,  in  fact,  they  were  ;  and  a  great  comfort  it  w-as  for 
Caroline  to  descend  to  the  calm  kitchen  from  the  stormy  back 
parlor,  and  there  vent  some  of  her  little  woes  to  the  compas- 
sionate servant  of  all  work. 

When  Mrs.  Gann  went  out  with  her  (laughters,  Becky  would 
take  her  work  and  come  and  keep  Miss  Caroline  company ; 
and  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  greatest  enjoyment  the  pair 
used  to  have  was  in  these  afternoons,  when  they  read  together 
out  of  the  precious,  greasy,  marble-covered  volumes  that  Mrs. 
Clann  was  in  the  habit  of  fetching  from  the  library.  Many 
and  many  a  tale  had  the  pair  so  gone  through.  1  can  see  them 
over  "  Manfrone  ;  or  the  One-handed  Monk  " — the  room  dark, 
the  street  silent,  the  hour  ten — the  tall,  red,  lurid  candlewick 
waggling  down,  the  flame  flickering  pale  upon  Miss  Caroline's 
pale  face  as  she  read  out,  and  lighting  up  honest  Becky's  gog- 
gling eyes,  who  sat  silent,  her  work  in  her  lap  :  she  had  not  done 
a  stitch  of  it  for  an  hour.  As  the  trap-door  slowly  opens,  and 
the  scowling  Alonzo,  bending  over  the  sleeping  Imoinda,  draws 
his  pistol,  cocks  it,  looks  well  if  the  priming  be  right,  places  it 
then  to  tlie  sleeper's  ear,  and — tJiunder-undcr-undc)- — down  fall 
the  snuffers  !  Becky  has  had  them  in  her  hand  for  ten  minutes, 
afraid  to  use  them.  Up  starts  Caroline,  and  flings  the  book 
back  into  her  mamma's  basket.  It  is  that  lady  returned  with 
her  daughters  from  a  tea-party,  where  two  young  gents  from 
London  have  been  mighty  genteel  indeed. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


3J 


For  the  sentimental,  too,  as  well  as  for  the  terrible.  Miss 
Caroline  and  the  cook  had  a  strong  predilection,  and  had  wept 
their  poor  eyes  out  over  "  Thacldeus  of  Warsaw  "  and  the 
"  Scottish  Chiefs."  Fortified  by  the  examples  drawn  from  those 
instructive  volumes,  ]kcky  was  firmly  convinced  that  her  young  ' 
mistress  would  meet  with  a  great  lord  some  day  or  other,  or  be 
carried  off,  like  Cinderella,  by  a  brilliant  prince,  to  the  morti- 
fication of  her  elder  sisters,  whom  Becky  hated.  And  when, 
therefore,  the  new  lodger  came,  lonely,  mysterious,  melancholy, 
elegant,  with  the  romantic  name  of  George  Brandon — when  he 
wrote  a  letter  directed  to  a  lord,  and  Miss  Caroline  and  Becky 
together  examined  the  superscription,  such  a  look  passed  be- 
tween them  as  the  pencil  of  Leslie  or  Maclise  could  alone 
describe  for  tis.  Becky's  orbs  were  lighted  up  with  a  preter- 
natural look  of  wondering  wisdom  ;  whereas,  after  an  instant, 
Caroline  dropped  hers,  and  blushed,  and  said,  "  Nonsense, 
Becky  !  " 

"  Is  it  nonsense  ?  ''  said  Becky,  grinning  and  snapping  her 
fingers  with  a  triumphant  air  ;  "  the  cards  comes  true  ;  1  knew 
they  would.  Didn't  you  have  king  and  queen  of  hearts  three 
deals  running?  What  did  you  dream  about  last  Tuesday,  tell 
me  that  1  " 

But  Miss  Caroline  never  did  tell,  for  her  sisters  came 
bouncing  down  the  stairs,  and  examined  the  lodger's  letter. 
Caroline,  however,  went  away  musing  much  upon  these  points  ; 
and  she  began  to  think  Mr.  Brandon  more  wonderful  and 
beautiful  every  day. 

In  the  meantime,  while  Miss  Caroline  was  innocently  in- 
dulging in  her  inclination  for  the  brilliant  occupier  of  the  first 
floor,  it  came  to  pass  that  the  tenant  of  the  second  was  in- 
flamed by  a  most  romantic  passion  for  her. 

For,  after  partaking  for  about  a  fortnight  of  the  family 
dinner,  and  passing  some  evenings  with  Mrs.  Gann  and  the 
young  ladies,  Mr.  Fitch,  though  by  no  means  quick  of  comjDre- 
hension,  began  to  perceive  that  the  nightly  charges  that  were 
brought  against  poor  Caroline  could  not  be  founded  upon  truth, 
"  Let's  see,"  mused  he  to  himself.  "  Tuesday,  the  old  lady 
said  her  daughter  was  bringing  her  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to 
the  grave,  because  the  cook  had  not  boiled  the  potatoes. 
Wednesday,  she  said  Caroline  was  an  assassin,  because  she 
could  not  find  her  own  thimble.  Thursday,  she  vows  Caroline 
has  no  religion,  because  that  old  pair  of  silk  stockings  were 
not  darned.  And  this  can't  be,"'  reasoned  Fitch,  deeply.  "A 
gal  haint  a  murderess  because  her  Ma  can't  find  her  thimble. 


32 


//  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


A  woinan  that  goes  to  slap  her  grown-up  daughter  on  the  back 
and  before  company  too,  for  such  a  paltry  thing  as  a  hold  pair 
of  stockings,  can't  be  surely  a-speaking  the  truth."  And  thuri 
gradually  his  first  impression  against  Caroline  wore  away.  As 
this  disappeared,  pity  took  possession  of  his  soul — and  we 
know  what  pity  is  akin  to  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  corre- 
sponding hatred  for  the  oppressors  of  a  creature  so  amiable. 

To  sum  up,  in  six  short  weeks  after  the  appearance  of  the 
two  gentlemen,  we  find  our  chief  dramatis  persofice  as  follows  : 

Caroline,  an  innocent  young  woman,  in  love  with  Brandon. 
Fitch,  a  celebrated  painter,  almost  in  love  with  Caroline. 
Brandon,  a  young  gentleman,  in  love  with  himself. 

At  first  he  was  pretty  constant  in  his  attendance  upon  the 
Misses  Macarty  when  they  went  out  to  walk,  nor  were  they  dis- 
pleased at  his  attentions  ;  but  he  found  that  there  were  a  great 
number  of  Margate  beaux — ugly,  vulgar  fellows  as  ever  were — 
who  always  followed  in  the  young  ladies'  train,  and  made  them 
selves  infinitely  more  agreeable  than  he  was.  These  men  Mr. 
Brandon  treated  with  a  great  deal  of  scorn  :  and,  in  return,  they 
hated  him  cordially.  So  did  the  ladies  speedily  :  his  haughty 
manners,  though  quite  as  impertinent  and  free,  were  not  half 
so  pleasant  to  them  as  Jones's  jokes  or  Smith's  charming 
romps  ;  and  the  girls  gave  Brandon  very  shortly  to  understand 
that  they  were  much  happier  without  him.  "  Ladies,  your 
humble,"  he  heard  Bob  Smith  say,  as  that  little  linendraper 
came  skipping  to  the  door  from  which  they  were  issuing.  "  The 
sun's  hup  and  trade  is  down  ;  if  you're  for  a  walk,  I'm  your 
man."  And  Miss  Linda  and  Miss  Bella  each  took  an  arm  of 
Mr.  Smith,  and  sailed  down  the  street.  "  I'm  glad  you  ain't 
got  that  proud  gent  with  the  glass  hi,"  said  Mr.  Smith  •  "  he's 
the  most  hillbred,  supercilious  beast  I  ever  see." 

"  So  he  is,"  says  Bella. 

"  Hush  !  "  says  Linda. 

The  "  proud  gent  with  the  glass  hi "  was  at  this  moment  loll- 
ing out  of  the  first-floor  window,  smoking  his  accustomed  cigar ; 
and  his  eyeglass  was  fixed  upon  the  ladies,  to  whom  he  made 
a  very  low  bow.  It  maybe  imagined  how  fond  he  was  of  them 
afterwards,  and  what  looks  he  cast  at  Mr.  Bob  Smith  the  next 
time  he  met  him.  Mr.  PJob's  heart  beat  for  a  day  afterwards  ; 
and  he  found  lie  had  business  in  town. 

But  the  love  of  society  is  stronger  than  even  pride  ;  and  the 
great  Mr.  Brandon  was  sometimes  fain  to  descend  from  his 
high  station  and  consort  with  the  vulgar  family  with  whom  he 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


zz 


lodged.  Tiut,  as  we  have  said,  he  always  did  this  with  a  won- 
derfully condescending  air,  giving  his  associates  to  understand 
how  great  was  the  honor  he  did  them. 

One  da)',  then,  he  was  absolutely  so  kind  as  to  accept  of 
an  invitation  from  the  ground-floor,  which  was  delivered  in  the 
passage  by  Mr.  James  Gann,  who  said,  "  It  was  hard  to  see  a 
gent  eating  mutton-chops  from  week's  end  to  week's  end  ;  and  if 
Mr.  Brandon  had  a  mind  to  meet  a  devilish  good  fellow  as  eve*" 
was,  my  friend  Swigby,  a  man  who  rides  his  horse,  and  has  his 
five  hundred  a  year  to  spend,  and  to  eat  a  prime  cut  out  of  as 
good  a  leg  of  pork  (though  he  said  it)  as  ever  a  knife  was  stuck 
into,  they  should  dine  that  day  at  three  o'clock  sharp,  and  Mrs.<  ■ 
G.  and  the  gals  would  be  glad  of  the  honor  of  his  company. 

The  person  so  invited  was  rather  amused  at  the  terms  in 
which  Mr.  Gann  conveyed  his  hospitable  message  ;  and  at  three 
o'clock  made  his  appearance  in  the  back-parlor,  whence  he  had 
the  honor  of  conducting  Mrs.  Gann  (dressed  in  a  sweet  yellow 
niousseline  de  laine,  with  a  large  red  turban,  z.fcrron7iien',  and  a 
smelling-bottle  attached  by  a  ring  to  a;  very  damp,  fat  hand)  to 
the  "office,"  where  the  repast  was  set  out.  The  Misses  Ma- 
carty  were  in  costumes  equally  tasty  :  one  on  the  guest's  right 
hand ;  one  near  the  boarder,  Mr.  Fitch — who,  in  a  large  beard, 
an  amethyst  velvet-waistcoat,  his  hair  fresh  wetted,  and  parted 
accurately  down  the  middle  to  fall  in  curls  over  his  collar,  would 
have  been  irresistible  if  the  collar  had  been  a  little,  little  whiter 
than  it  was. 

Mr.  Brandon,  too,  was  dressed  in  his  very  best  suit ;  for 
though  he  affected  to  despise  his  hosts  very  much,  he  wished 
to  make  the  most  favorable  impression  upon  them,  and  took 
care  to  tell  Mrs.  Gann  that  he  and  Lord  So-and-so  were  the 
only  two  men  in  the  world  who  were  in  possession  of  that  par- 
ticular waistcoat  which  she  admired  :  for  Mrs.  Gann  was  very 
gracious,  and  had  admired  the  waistcoat,  being  desirous  to  im- 
press with  awe  Mr.  Gann's  friend  and  admirer,  Mr.  Swigby — 
who,  man  of  fortune  as  he  was,  was  a  constant  frequenter  of 
the  club  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

About  this  club  and  its  supporters  Mr.  Gann's  guest,  Mr. 
Swigby,  and  Gann  himself,  talked  very  gayly  before  dinner  ;  all 
the  jokes  about  all  the  club  being  roared  over  by  the  pair. 

Mr.  Brandon,  who  felt  he  was  the  great  man  of  the  party, 
indulged  himself  in  his  great  propensities  without  restraint,  and 
told  Mrs.  Gann  stories  about  half  the  nobility.  Mrs.  Gann 
conversed  knowingly  about  the  Opera  ;  and  declared  that  she 
thought  Taglioni  the  sweetest  singer  in  the  world. 

3 


34 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


"■  Mr. — a — Swigby,  have  you  ever  seen  Lablache  dance  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Brandon  of  that  gentleman,  to  whom  he  had  been 
formally  introduced. 

"  At  Vauxhall  is  he  ?  "  said  Mr.  Swigby,  who  was  just  from 
town. 

"  Yes,  on  the  tight-rope  ;  a  charming  performer." 

On  which  Mr.  Gann  told  how  he  had  been  to  Vauxhall  when 
fhe  princes  were  in  London  ;  and  his  lady  talked  of  these 
knowingly.  And  then  they  fell  to  conversing  about  fireworks 
and  rack-punch  ;  Mr.  Brandon  assuring  the  young  ladies  thai 
Vauxhall  was  the  very  pink  of  the  fashion,  and  longing  to  have 
^the  honor  of  dancing  a  quadrille  with  them  there.  Indeed, 
Brandon  was  so  very  sarcastic,  that  not  a  single  soul  at  labia 
understood  him. 

The  table,  from  Mr.  Brandon's  plan  of  it,  which  was  after 
wards  sent  to  my  Lord  Cinqbars,  was  arranged  as  follows  : — 


Miss  Caroline. 


Mr.  Fitch, 


Miss  L.  Macarty. 


I. 

Potatoes. 

3. 

A    roast     leg    of 
pork,   with   sage  and 
onions. 

Three    shreds 
of    celery   in    a 
glass. 

Boiled      haddock, 
removed    by    hashed 
mutton. 

2. 

Cabbage. 

4- 

Mr.  Swigby, 


Miss  B,  Macarty. 


Mr.  Brandon. 


I  and  2  are  pots  of  porter ;  3,  a  quart  of  ale,  Mrs.  Gann's 
favorite  drink  ;  4,  a  bottle  of  fine  old  golden  sherry,  the  real 
produce  of  the  LTva  grape,  purchased  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  " 
Hotel  for  is.  gd.  by  Mr.  J.  Gann. 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Taste  "that  sherry,  sir.  Your  'ealth,  and  my 
services  to  you,  sir.  That  wine,  sir,  is  given  me  as  a  particular 
favor  by  my — ahem  ! — my  wine-merchant,  who  only  will  part  with 
a  small  quantity  of  it,  and  imports  it,  direct,  sir,  from — ahem  ! — 
from " 

Afr.  Brandon.  "  From  Xeres,  of  course.  It  is,  I  really 
think,  the  finest  wine  I  ever  tasted  in  my  life — at  a  commoner's 
table,  that  is," 

Mrs.  Gann.  "  Oh,  in  course,  a  commoner's  table  ! — we 
have  no  titles,  sir,  (Mr.  Gann,  I  will  trouble  you  for  some  more 
crackling,)  though  my  poor  dear  girls  are  related,  by  their  blessed 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


35 


father's  side,  to  some  of  the  first  nobility  in  the  land,  I  assure 
you." 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Gammon,  Jooly  my  dear.  Them  Irish  no- 
bility, you  know,  what  are  they  ?  And  besides,  it's  my  belief 
that  the  gals  are  no  more  related  to  them  than  I  am." 

Aliss  Bella  (to  Mr.  Brandon,  confidentially).  "  You  must 
find  that  poor  Par  is  sadly  vulgar,  Mr.  Brandon." 

Mrs.  Ganti.  "  Mr.  Brandon  has  never  been  accustomed  to 
such  language,  I  am  sure  ;  and  I  entreat  you  will  excuse  Mr. 
Gann's  rudeness,  sir." 

Miss  Linda.  "  Indeed,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Brandon,  that  we've 
high  connections  as  well  as  low ;  as  high  as  some  people's  con- 
nections, per'aps,  though  we  are  not  always  talking  of  the 
nobility."  This  was  a  double  shot:  the  first  barrel  of  Miss 
Linda's  sentence  hit  her  stepfather,  the  second  part  was  levelled 
directly  at  Mr.  Brandon.  "  Don't  vou  think  I'm  right,  Mr. 
Fitch  ?  " 

Afr.  Brandon.  "  You  are  quite  right,  Miss  Linda,  in  this  as 
in  every  other  instance ;  but  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Fitch  has  not 
paid  proper  attention  to  your  excellent  remark  :  for,  if  I  don't 
mistake  the  meaning  of  the  beautiful  design  which  he  has  made 
with  his  fork  upon  the  tablecloth,  his  soul  is  at  this  moment 
wrapped  up  in  his  art." 

This  was  exactly  what  Mr.  Fitch  wished  that  all  the  world 
should  suppose.  He  flung  back  his  hair,  and  stared  wildly  for 
a  moment,  and  said,  "  Pardon  me,  madam  ;  it  is  true  my 
thoughts  were  at  that  moment  far  away  in  the  regions  of  my 
hart."  He  was  really  thinking  that  his  attitude  was  a  very 
elegant  one,  and  that  a  large  garnet  ring  which  he  wore  on 
his  forefinger  must  be  mistaken  by  all  the  company  for  a  ruby. 

"  Art  is  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Brandon  ;  "  but  with  such 
pretty  natural  objects  before  you,  I  wonder  you  were  not  con- 
tent to  think  of  them." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  mashed  patotoes,  sir  ? "  said  Andrea 
Fitch,  wondering. 

"  I  mean  Miss  Rosalind  Macarty,"  answered  Brandon,  gal- 
lantly, and  laughing  heartily  at  the  painter's  simplicity.  But 
this  compliment  could  not  soften  Miss  Linda,  who  had  an  un- 
easy conviction  that  Mr.  Brandon  was  laughing  at  her,  and  dis- 
liked him  accordingly. 

At  this  juncture,  Miss  Caroline  entered  and  took  the  place 
marked  as  hers,  to  the  left  hand  of  Mr.  Gann,  vacant.  An  old 
rickety  wooden  stool  was  placed  for  her,  instead  of  that  elegant 
and  commodious  Windsor  chair  which  supported  every  other 


36 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


person  at  table  ;  and  by  the  side  of  the  plate  stood  a  curious  old 
battered  tin  mug,  on  which  the  antiquarian  might  possibly  dis- 
cover the  inscription  of  the  word  "  Caroline."  This,  in  truth, 
was  poor  Caroline's  mug  and  stool,  having  been  appropriated 
to  her  from  childhood  upwards  ;  and  here  it  was  her  custom 
meekly  to  sit,  and  eat  her  daily  meal. 

It  was  well  that  the  girl  was  placed  near  her  father,  else  I 
do  believe  she  would  have  been  starved  ;  but  Gann  was  much 
too  good-natured  to  allow  that  any  difference  should  be  made 
between  her  and  her  sisters.  There  are  some  meannesses  which 
are  too  mean  even  for  man — woman,  lovely  woman  alone,  can 
venture  to  commit  them.  Well,  on  the  present  occasion,  and 
when  the  dinner  was  half  over,  poor  Caroline  stole  gently  into 
the  room  and  took  her  ordinary  place.  Caroline's  pale  face  was 
very  red ;  for  the  fact  must  be  told  that  she  had  been  in  the 
kitchen  helping  Becky,  the  universal  maid  ;  and  having  heart 
how  the  great  Mr.  Brandon  was  to  dine  with  them  upon  that 
day,  the  simple  girl  had  been  showing  her  respect  for  him, 
by  compiling,  in  her  best  manner,  a  certain  dish,  for  the  cooking 
of  which  her  papa  had  often  praised  her.  She  took  her  place, 
blushing  violently  when  she  saw  him,  and  if  Mr.  Gann  had  no 
been  making  a  violent  clattering  with  his  knife  and  fork,  it  is 
possible  that  he  might  have  heard  Miss  Caroline's  heart  thump, 
which  it  did  violently.  Her  dress  was  somehow  a  little  smarter 
than  usual ;  and  Becky  the  maid,  who  brought  in  that  remove 
of  hashed  mutton  which  has  been  set  down  in  the  bill  of  fare, 
looked  at  her  young  lady  with  a  good  deal  of  complacency,  as, 
loaded  with  plates,  she  quitted  the  room.  Indeed,  the  poor 
girl  deserved  to  be  looked  at :  there  was  an  air  of  gentleness 
and  innocence  about  her  that  was  apt  to  please  some  persons, 
much  more  then  the  bold  beauties  of  her  sisters.  The  two 
young  men  did  not  fail  to  remark  this ;  one  of  them,  the  little 
painter,  had  long  since  observed  it, 

"  You  are  very  late,  miss,"  cried  Mrs.  Gann,  who  affected 
not  to  know  what  had  caused  her  daughter's  delay.  "  You're 
always  late  !  "  and  the  elder  girls  stared  and  grinned  at  each 
other  knowingly,  as  they  always  did  when  mamma  made  such 
attacks  upon  Caroline,  who  only  kept  her  eyes  down  upon  the 
tablecloth,  and  began  to  eat  her  dinner  without  saying  a  word. 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  cried  honest  Gann,  "  if  she  is  late  you 
know  why.  A  girl  can't  be  here  and  there  too,  as  I  say ;  can 
they,  Swigby  ? " 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Swigby. 

"  Gents,"  continued  Mr.  Gann,  "  our  Carry,  you  must  know, 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  37 

has  been  down  stairs,  making  the  pudding  for  her  old  pappy ; 
and  a  good  pudding  she  makes,  I  can  tell  you." 

Miss  Caroline  blushed  more  vehemently  than  ever;  the 
artist  stared  her  full  in  the  face  ;  Mrs.  Gann  said,  "  Nonsense  " 
and  "  stuff  "  very  majestically ;  only  Mr.  Brandon  interposed  in 
Caroline's  favor, 

"  I  would  sooner  that  my  wife  should  know  how  to  make  a 
pudding,"  said  he,  "  than  how  to  play  the  best  piece  of  music 
in  the  world  !  " 

'•  Law,  Mr.  Brandon  !  I,  for  my  part  wouldn't  demean  my- 
self by  any  such  kitchen  work  !  "  cries  Miss  Linda. 

"  Make  puddens,  indeed  ;  its  ojous  !  "  cries  Bella. 

"  For  you,  my  loves,  of  course  !  "  interposed  their  mamma. 
"  Young  women  of  j'our  family  and  circumstances  is  not  expected 
to  perform  any  such  work.  It's  different  with  Miss  Caroline, 
who,  if  she  does  make  herself  useful  now  and  then,  don't  make 
herself  near  so  useful  as  she  should,  considering  that  she's  not 
a  shilling,  and  is  living  on  our  charity,  like  some  other  folks." 

Thus  did  this  amiable  woman  neglect  no  opportunity  to 
give  her  opinions  about  her  husband  and  daughter.  The  former, 
however,  cared  not  a  straw  ;  and  the  latter,  in  this  instance,  was 
perfectly  happy.  Had  not  kind  Mr.  Brandon  approved  of  her 
work  ;  and  could  she  ask  for  more  ? 

"  Mamma  may  say  what  she  pleases  to-day,"  thought  Caro- 
line.    "  I  am  too  happy  to  be  made  angry  by  her." 

"  Poor  little  mistaken  Caroline,  to  think  you  were  safe 
against  three  women  !  The  dinner  had  not  advanced  much 
further,  when  Miss  Isabella,  who  had  been  examining  her 
younger  sister  curiously  for  some  short  time,  telegraphed  Miss 
Linda  across  the  table,  and  nodded,  and  winked,  and  pointed 
to  her  own  neck  ;  a  very  white  one,  as  I  have  before  had  the 
honor  to  remark,  and  quite  without  any  covering  except  a 
smart  necklace  of  twenty-four  rows  of  the  lightest  blue  glass 
beads,  finishing  in  a  neat  tassel.  Linda  had  a  similar  orna- 
ment of  vermilion  color  ;  whereas  Caroline,  on  this  occasion, 
wore  a  handsome  new  collar  up  to  the  throat,  and  a  brooch, 
which  looked  all  the  smarter  for  the  shabby  frock  over  which 
they  were  placed.  As  soon  as  she  saw  her  sister's  signals,  the 
poor  little  thing,  who  had  only  just  done  fluttering  and  blushing, 
fell  to  this  same  work  over  again.  Down  went  her  eyes  once 
more,  and  her  face  and  neck  lighted  up  to  the  color  of  Miss 
Linda's  shan\  cornelian. 

"  What's  the  gals  giggling  and  ogling  about .''  "  said  Mr, 
Gann,  innocently. 


38  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

*'  What  is  it,  my  darling  loves  ?  "  says  stately  Mrs.  Gann. 

*iWhy,  don't  you  see,  Ma?"  said  Linda.  "Look  at  Miss 
Carry  !  I'm  blessed  if  she  has  not  got  on  Becky's  collar  and 
brooch  that  Sims  the  pilot  gave  her. 

The  young  ladies  fell  back  in  uproarious  fits  of  laughter, 
and  laughed  all  the  time  that  their  mamma  was  thundering  out 
a  speech,  in  which  she  declared  that  her  daughter's  conduct  was 
unworthy  a  gentlewonian,  and  bid  her  leave  the  room  and  take 
off  those  disgraceful  ornaments. 

There  was  no  need  to  tell  her ;  the  poor  little  thing  gave 
one  piteous  look  at  her  father,  who  was  whistling,  and  seemed 
indeed  to  think  the  matter  a  good  joke  ;  and,  after  she  had 
managed  to  open  the  door  and  totter  into  the  passage,  you 
might  have  heard  her  weeping  there,  weeping  tears  more  bitter 
than  any  of  the  many  she  had  shed  in  the  course  of  her  life. 
Down  she  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  when  she  reached  that 
humble  place  of  refuge,  first  pulled  at  her  neck  and  made  as  if 
she  would  take  off  Becky's  collar  and  brooch,  and  then  flung 
herself  into  the  arms  of  the  honest  scullion,  where  she  cried 
and  cried  till  she  brought  on  the  first  fit  of  hysterics  that  ever 
she  had  had. 

This  crying  could  not  at  first  be  heard  in  the  parlor,  where 
the  young  ladies,  Mrs.  Gann,  Mr.  Gann,  and  his  friend  from 
the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  w^ere  roaring  at  the  excellence  of  the  joke. 
Mr.  Brandon,  sipping  his  sherry,  sat  by,  looking  very  sarcastic- 
ally and  slyly  from  one  party  to  the  other  ;  Mr.  Fitch  was 
staring  about  him  too,  but  with  a  very  different  expression, 
anger  and  wonder  inflaming  his  bearded  countenance.  At 
last,  as  the  laughing  died  away  and  a  faint  voice  of  weeping 
came  from  the  kitchen  below,  Andrew  could  bear  it  no  longer, 
but  bounced  up  from  his  chair  and  rushed  out  of  the  room 
exclaiming, — 

"By  Jove,  it's  too  bad  !" 

"  Wliat  does  the  man  mean  ? "  says  Mrs.  Gann. 

He  meant  that  he  was  from  that  moment  over  head  and 
ears  in  love  with  Caroline,  and  that  he  longed  to  beat,  buffet, 
pummel,  thump,  tear  to  pieces,  those  callous  ruffians  who  so 
pitilessly  laughed  at  her. 

"  What's  that  chop  wi'  the  beard  in  such  tantrums  about?" 
said  the  gentleman  from  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

Mr.  Gann  answered  this  query  by  some  joke,  intimating 
that  "  per'aps  Mr.  Fitch's  dinner  did  not  agree  with  him,"  at 
which  these  worthies  roared  again. 

The  young  ladies  said,  "  Well,  now,  upon  my  word  !  " 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


39 


"  Mighty  genteel  behavior  truly  !  "  cried  mamma ;  "  but 
what  can  you  expect  from  the  poor  thing  ?  " 

Brandon  only  sipped  more  sherry,  but  he  looked  at  Fitch 
as  the  latter  flung  out  of  the   room,  and  his   countenance  was 

lighted  up  by  a  more  unequivocal  smile. 

****** 

These  two  little  adventures  were  followed  by  a  silence  of 
some  few  minutes,  during  which  the  meats  remained  on  the 
table,  and  no  signs  were  shown  of  that  pudding  upon  which 
poor  Caroline  had  exhausted  her  skill.  The  absence  of  this 
delicious  part  of  the  repast  was  first  remarked  by  Mr.  Gann  ; 
and  his  lady,  after  jangling  at  the  bell  for  some  time  in  vain,  at 
last  begged  one  of  her  daughters  to  go  and  hasten  matters. 

"  Becky  !  "  shrieked  Miss  Linda  from  the  hall,  but  Becky 
replied  not.  "  Becky,  are  we  to  be  kept  waiting  all  day !  "  con- 
tinued the  lady  in  the  same  shrill  voice.  "  Mamma  wants  the 
pudding ! " 

"  Tell  her  to  fetch  it  herself  !  "  roared  Becky,  at  which 
remark  Gann  and  his  facetious  friend  once  more  Avent  off  into 
fits  of  laughter. 

"This  is  too  bad  !"  said  Mrs.  G.,  starting  up;  "she  shall 
leave  the  house  this  instant !  "  and  so  no  doubt  Becky  would, 
but  that  the  lady  owed  her  five  quarters'  wages ;  which  she,  at 
that  period,  did  not  feel  inclined  to  pay. 

Well,  the  dinner  at  last  was  at  an  end  ;  the  ladies  went 
away  to  tea,  leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  wine  ;  Brandon, 
very  condescendingly,  partaking  of  a  bottle  of  port,  and  listen- 
ing with  admiration  to  the  toasts  and  sentiments  with  which  it 
is  still  the  custom  among  persons  of  Mr.  Gann's  rank  of  life  to 
preface  each  glass  of  wine.     As  thus  : — 

Glass  I.  "Gents,"  says  Mr.  Gann,  rising,  "this  glass  I 
need  say  nothink  about.  Here's  the  king,  and  long  life  to  him 
and  the  family  !  " 

Mr.  Swigby,  with  his  glass,  goes  knock,  knock,  knock  on 
the  table;  and  saying  gravely,  "The  king!"  drinks  off  his 
glass,  and  smacks  his  lips  afterwards. 

Mr.  Brandon,  who  had  drunk  half  his,  stops  in  the  midst 
and  says,  "  Oh,  '  the  king  ! '  " 

Mr.  Swigby.  "  A  good  glass  of  wine  that,  Gann  my  boy  !  " 

Mr.  Bra?i(ion.  "Capital,  really;  though,  upon  my  faith,  I'm 
no  judge  of  port." 

Mr.  Gann  (smacks).  "  A  fine  fruity  wine  as  ever  I  tasted. 
I  suppose  you,  Mr,  B.,  are  accustomed  only  to  claret.  I've  'ad 
it,  too,  in   my  time,  sir,   as  Swigby  there  very  well  knows.     I 


40 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


tra\elled,  sir,  sicre  le  Co7itinong,  I  assure  you,  and  drank  my 
glass  of  claret  with  the  best  man  in  France,  or  England  either. 
I  wasn't  always  what  I  am,  sir." 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  You  don't  look  a3  if  you  were." 

Mr.  Gann.  "  No,  sir.     Before  that gas  came  in,  I  was 

head,  sir,  of  one  of  the  fust  'ouses  in  the  hoil-trade,  Gann, 
Blubbery  &  Gann,  sir — Thames  Street,  City.  I'd  my  box  at 
Putne}',  as  good  a  gig  and  horse  as  my  friend  there  drives." 

Afr.  S7vigby.  "Ay,  and  a  better  too,  Gann,  I  make  no 
doubt." 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Well,  say  a  better.  I  /tad  a  better,  if  money 
could  fetch  it,  sir  ;  and  I  didn't  spare  that,  I  warrant  you.  No, 
no,  James  Gann  didn't  grudge  his  purse,  sir;  and  had  his 
friends. around  him,  as  he's  'appy  to  'ave  now,  sir.  Mr.  Bran- 
don, your  'ealth,  sir,  and  may  we  hoften  meet  under  this  ma- 
'ogany.     Swigby,  my  boy,  God  bless  you  !  " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Your  very  good  health." 

Mr.  Swigby.  "  Thank  you,  Gann.  Here's  to  you,  and  long 
life  and  prosperity  and  happiness  to  you  and  yours.  Bless  you, 
Jim  my  boy ;  hea\-en  bless  you  !  I  say  this,  Mr.  Brandon — 
Brandon — what's  your  name — there  ain't  a  better  fellow  in  all 
Margate  than  James  Gann, — no,  nor  in  all  England.  Here's 
Mrs.  Gann,  gents,  and  the  family.     Mrs.  Gann  !  "  {drinks.) 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Mrs.  Gann,     Hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  "  {drinks.) 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Mrs.  Gann,  and  thank  you,-  gents.  A  fine 
woman,  Mr.  B. ;  ain't  she  now  ?  Ah,  if  you'd  seen  'er  when  I 
married  'er  !  Gad,  she  7c<as  fine  then — an  out  and  outer,  sir  ! 
Such  a  figure  !  " 

Mr.  Swigby.  "  You'd  choose  none  but  a  good  "un,  I  war'nt. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Afr.  Gann.  "  Did  I  ever  tell  you  of  m)-  duel  along  with  the 
regimental  doctor  ?  No  !  Then  I  will.  I  was  a  young  chap, 
you  see,  in  those  days  ;  and  wheii  I  saw  her  at  J^russels — 
{Briisscll,  they  call  it) — I  was  right  slick  up  overhead  and  ears 
in  love  with  her  at  once.  ]}ut  what  was  to  be  done  ?  There 
was  another  gent  in  the  case — a  regimental  doctor,  sir — a 
reg'lar  dragon.  '  Faint  heart,'  says  I,  'never  won  a  fair  lady,' 
and  so  I  made  so  bold.  She  took  me,  sent  the  doctor  to  the 
right  about.  I  met  him  one  morning  in  the  jDark  at  Brussels, 
and  stood  to  him,  sir,  like  a  man.  When  the  affair  was  over, 
my  second,  a  leftenant  of  dragoons,  told  me,  'Gann,'  says  he, 
*  I've  seen  many  a  man  under  fire — I'm  a  Waterloo  man,' 
says  he, — 'and  have  rode  by  Wellington  many  a  long  day; 
but  I  never,  for  coolness,  see    such  a  man    as   you.     Gents, 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


41 


here's  the  Duke  of  Wellington  and  the  British  Army  !  "  (the 
gents  drink^ 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Did  you  kill  the  doctor,  sir  ?  " 
Afr.  Gann.  "  Why,  no,  sir ;  I  shot  in  the  hair." 
Mr.  Brandon.  "  Shot  him  in  the  hair !     Egad,  that  was  a 
severe  shot,   and  a  very  lucky  escape  the  doctor  had  of  it  ? 
Whereabout  in  the  hair  ?  a  whisker,  sir  ;  or,  perhaps,  a  pig-tail  ?  " 
Mr.  Swigby.  "  Haw,  haw,  haw  !  shot'n  in  the  hair — capital, 
capital  !  " 

Mr.  Gann,  who  has  grow?i  very  red.  "  No,  sir,  there  may  "be 
some  mistake  in  my  pronounciation,  which  I  didn't  expect  to 
have  laughed  at,  at  my  hown  table." 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  My  dear  sir !     I  protest  and  vow " 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Never  mind  it,  sir.  I  gave  you  my  best,  and 
did  my  best  to  make  you  welcome.  If  you  like  better  to  make 
fun  of  me,  do,  sir.  That  may  be  the  genteel  way,  but  hang  me 
if  it's  hour  way ;  is  it.  Jack  .-*  Our  way ;  I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir." 

Mr.  Swigby.  "Jim,  Jim!  for  heaven's  sake! — peace  and 
harmony  of  the  evening — conviviality — social  enjoyment — didn't 
mean  it — did  you  mean  anything,  Mr.  What-d'-ye-call-'im  ?" 
Afr.  Brandon.  "  Nothing,  upon  my  honor  as  a  gentleman  !  " 
Mr.  Gann.  "  Well,  then,  there's  my  hand ! "  and  good- 
natured  Gann  tried  to  forget  the  insult,  and  to  talk  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred  :  but  he  had  been  wounded  in  the  most  sensitive 
point  in  which  a  man  can  be  touched  by  his  superior,  and  never 
forgot  Brandon's  joke.  That  night  at  the  club,  when  dread- 
fully tipsy,  he  made  several  speeches  on  the  subject,  and  burst 
into  tears  many  times.  The  pleasure  of  the  evening  was  quite 
spoiled  ;  and,  as  the  conversation  became  rapid  and  dull,  we 
shall  refrain  from  reporting  it.  Mr.  Brandon  speedily  took 
leave,  but  had  not  the  courage  to  face  the  ladies  at  tea  ;  to 
whom,  it  appears,  the  reconciled  Becky  had  brought  that  re- 
freshing beverage. 


42  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN    WHICH    MR.  FITCH    PROCLAIMS    HIS    LOVE,  AND    MR.  BRANDON 
PREPARES    FOR    WAR. 

From  the  splendid  hall  in  which  Mrs.  Gann  was  dispensing 
her  hospitality,  the  celebrated  painter,  Andrea  Fitch,  rushed 
forth  in  a  state  of  mind  even  more  delirious  than  that  which  he 
usually  enjoyed.  He  looked  abroad  into  the  street :  all  there 
was  dusk  and  lonely  ;  the  rain  falling  heavily,  the  wind  playing 
Pandean  pipes  and  whistling  down  the  chimney-pots.  "  I  love 
the  storm,"  said  Fitch,  solemnly  ;  and  he  put  his  great  Spanish 
cloak  round  him  in  the  most  approved  manner  (it  was  of  so 
prodigious  a  size  that  the  tail  of  it,  as  it  twirled  over  his  shoul- 
der, whisked  away  a  lodging-card  from  the  door  of  the  house 
opposite  Mr.  Gann's).  "  I  love  the  storm  and  solitude,"  said 
he,  lighting  a  large  pipe  filled  full  of  the  fragrant  Oronooko  ; 
and  thus  armed,  he  passed  rapidly  down  the  street,  his  hat 
cocked  over  his  ringlets. 

Andrea  did  not  like  smoking,  but  he  used  a  pipe  as  part  of 
his  profession  as  an  artist,  and  as  one  of  the  picturesque  parts 
of  his  costume  ;  in  like  manner,  though  he  did  not  fence,  he 
always  travelled  about  with  a  pair  of  foils  ;  and  quite  uncon- 
scious of  music,  nevertlieless  had  a  guitar  constantly  near  at 
hand.  Without  such  properties  a  painter's  spectacle  is  not 
complete ;  and  now  he  determined  to  add  to  them  another  in- 
dispensable requisite — a  mistress.  "  What  great  artist  was 
ever  without  one  ?"  thought  he.  Long,  long  had  he  sighed  for 
some  one  whom  he  might  love,  some  one  to  whom  he  might 
address  the  poems  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  making. 
Hundreds  of  such  fragments  had  he  composed,  addressed  to 
Leila,  Ximena,  Ada — imaginary  beauties,  whom  he  courted  in 
dreamy  verse.  With  what  joy  would  he  replace  all  those  by  a 
real  charmer  of  flesh  and  blood  !  Away  he  went,  then,  on  this 
evening — the  tyranny  of  Mrs.  Gann  towards  poor  Caroline 
having  awakened  all  his  sympathies  in  the  gentle  girl's  favor — 
determined  now  and  for  ever  to  make  her  the  mistress  of  his 
heart.  Monna-Lisa,  the  Fornarina,  Leonardo,  Raphael — he 
thought  of  all  these,  and  vowed  that  his  Caroline  should  be 
made  famous  and  live  for  ever  on  his  canvas.  While  Mrs. 
Gann  was  preparing  for  her  friends,  and  entertaining  them  at 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  43 

tea  and  whist ;  while  Caroline,  all  unconscious  of  the  love  she 
inspired,  was  weeping  up  stairs  in  her  little  garret ;  while  Mr. 
Brandon  was  enjoying  the  refined  conversation  of  Gann  and 
Swigby,  over  their  glass  and  pipe  in  the  office,  Andrea  walked 
abroad  by  the  side  of  the  ocean  ;  and,  before  he  was  wet  through 
walked  himself  into  the  most  fervid  affection  for  poor  persecuted 
Caroline.  The  reader  might  have  observed  him  (had  not  the 
night  been  very  dark,  and  a  great  deal  too  wet  to  allow  a  sensi- 
ble reader  to  go  abroad  on  such  an  errand)  at  the  sea-shore 
standing  on  a  rock,  and  drawing  from  his  bosom  a  locket  which 
contained  a  curl  of  hair  tied  up  in  ribbon.  He  looked  at  it  for  a 
moment,  and  then  flung  it  away  from  him  into  the  black  boiling 
waters  below  him. 

"  No  other  'air  but  thine,  Caroline,  shall  ever  rest  near  this 
'art !  "  he  said,  and  kissed  the  locket  and  restored  it  to  its 
place.  Light-minded  youth,  whose  hair  was  it  that  he  thus 
flung  away  ?  How  many  times  had  Andrea  shown  that  very 
ringlet  in  strictest  confidence  to  several  brethren  of  the  brush, 
and  declared  that  it  was  the  hair  of  a  dear  girl  in  Spain  whom 
he  loved  to  madness  ?  Alas  !  'twas  but  a  fiction  of  his  fevered 
brain  ;  every  one  of  his  friends  had  a  locket  of  hair,  and  Andrea, 
who  had  no  love  until  now,  had  clipped  this  precious  token 
from  the  wig  of  a  lovely  lay-figure,  with  cast-iron  joints  and  a 
card-board  head,  that  had  stood  for  some  time  in  his  atelier. 
I  don't  know  that  he  felt  any  shame  about  the  proceeding,  for 
he  was  of  such  a  warm  imagination  that  he  had  grown  to  be- 
lieve that  the  hair  did  actually  come  from  a  girl  in  Spain,  and 
only  parted  with  it  on  yielding  to  a  superior  attachment. 

This  attachment  being  fixed  on,  the  young  painter  came 
home  wet  through  ;  passed  the  night  in  reading  Byron  ;  mak- 
ing sketches,  and  burning  them  ;  writing  poems  to  Caroline, 
and  expunging  them  with  pitiless  india-rubber.  A  romantic 
man  makes  a  point  of  sitting  up  all  night,  and  pacing  his  cham- 
ber ;  and  you  may  see  many  a  composition  of  Andrea's  dated 
"  Midnight,  loth  of  March,  A.  F.,"  with  his  peculiar  flourish  over 
the  initials.  He  was  not  sorry  to  be  told  in  the  morning,  by 
the  ladies  at  breakfast,  that  he  looked  dreadfully  pale  ;  and  an- 
swered, laying  his  hand  on  his  forehead  and  shaking  his  head 
gloomily,  that  he  could  get  no  sleep  :  and  then  he  would  heave 
a  huge  sigh;  and  Miss  Bella  and  Miss  Linda  would -look  at 
each  other,  and  grin  according  to  their  wont.  He  was  glad,  I 
say,  to  have  his  woe  remarked,  and  continued  his  sleeplessness 
for  two  or  three  nights  ;  but  he  was  certainly  still  more  glad 
when  he  heard  Mr.   Brandon,  on  the  fourth  morning,  cry  out, 


44 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


in  a  shrill  angry  voice,  to  Becky  the  maid,  to  give  the  gentle- 
man up  stairs  his  compliments — Mr.  Brandon's  compliments — 
and  tell  him  that  he  could  not  get  a  wink  of  sleep  for  the  horrid 
trampling  he  kept  up.  "  I  am  hanged  if  1  stay  in  the  house  a 
night  longer,"  added  the  first  floor  sharply,  "  if  that  Mr.  Fitch 
kicks  up  such  a  confounded  noise  1 "  Mr.  Fitch's  point  was 
gained,  and  henceforth  he  was  as  quiet  as  a  mouse  ;  for  his 
wish  was  not  only  to  be  in  love,  but  to  let  everybody  know 
that  he  was  in  love,  or  where  is  the  use  of  a  belle  passion  ? 

So,  whenever  he  saw  Caroline,  at  meals,  or  in  the  passage, 
he  used  to  stare  at  her  with  the  utmost  power  of  his  big  eyes, 
and  fall  to  groaning  most  pathetically.  He  used  to  leave  his 
meals  untasted,  groan,  heave  sighs,  and  stare  incessantly.  Mrs. 
Gann  and  her  eldest  daughters  were  astonished  at  these  man- 
oeuvres ;  for  they  ne\  er  suspected  that  any  man  could  possibly 
be  such  a  fool  as  to  fall  in  love  with  Caroline.  At  length  the 
suspicion  came  upon  them,  created  immense  laughter  and  de- 
light ;  and  the  ladies  did  not  fail  to  rally  Caroline  in  their 
usual  elegant  way.  Gann,  too,  loved  a  joke  (much  polite  wag- 
gery had  this  worthy  man  practised  in  select  inn-parlors  for 
twenty  years  past),  and  would  call  poor  Caroline  "  Mrs.  F.  ; " 
and  say  that,  instead  of  Fetch  and  Carry,  as  he  used  to  name 
her,  he  should  style  her  Fifch  and  Carry  for  the  future  ;  and 
laugh  at  this  great  pun,  and  make  many  others  of  a  similar  sort, 
that  set  Caroline  blushing. 

Indeed,  the  girl  suffered  a  great  deal  more  from  this  raillery 
than  at  first  may  be  imagined  ;  for  after  the  first  awe  inspired 
by  Pitch's  whiskers  had  passed  away,  and  he  had  drawn  the 
young  ladies'  pictures,  and  made  designs  in  their  albums,  and 
in  the  midst  of  their  jokes  and  conversation  had  remained  per- 
fectly silent,  the  Gann  family  had  determined  that  the  man  was 
an  idiot :  and,  indeed,  were  not  very  wide  of  the  mark.  In 
everything  e.xcept  his  own  peculiar  art  honest  Pitch  was  an 
idiot  ;  and  as  upon  the  subject  of  painting,  the  Ganns,  like 
most  people  of  their  class  in  P2ngland,  were  profoundly  igno- 
rant, it  came  to  pass  that  he  would  breakfast  and  dine  for 
many  days  in  their  company,  and  not  utter  one  single  syllable. 
So  they  looked  upon  him  with  extreme  pity  and  contempt,  as  a 
harmless,  good-natured,  crack-brained  creature,  quite  below 
them  in  the  scale  of  intellect,  and  only  to  be  endured  because 
he  paid  a  certain  number  of  shillings  weekly  to  the  Gann  ex- 
checiuer.  Mrs.  (iann  in  all  companies  was  accustomed  to  talk 
about  her  idiot.  Neighbors  and  children  used  to  peer  at  him 
as  he  strutted  down  the  street ;  and  though  every  young  lady, 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  45 

including  my  clear  Caroline,  is  flattered  by  having  a  lover,  at  least 
they  don't  like  such  a  lover  as  this.  The  Misses  Macarty  (after 
having  set  their  caps  at  him  very  fiercely,  and  quarrelled  con- 
cerning him  on  his  first  coming  to  lodge  at  their  house)  vowed 
and  protested  now  that  he  was  no  better  than  a  chimpanzee  ; 
and  Caroline  and  Becky  agreed  that  this  insult  was  as  great  as 
any  that  could  be  paid  to  the  painter.  "  He's  a  good  creature, 
too,"  said  Becky,  "  crack-brained  as  he  is.  Do  you  know,  miss, 
he  gave  me  half  a  sovereign  to  buy  a  new  collar,  after  that 
business  t'other  day  ?  " 

"  And  did — Mr. , —  did  the  first  floor  say  anything  ?  " 

asked  Caroline. 

"  Didn't  he  !  he's  a  funny  gentleman,  that  Brandon,  sure 
enough ;  and  when  I  took  him  up  breakfast  next  morning, 
asked  about  Sims  the  pilot,  and  what  I  gi'ed  Sims  for  the 
collar  and  brooch, — he,  he  !  " 

And  this  was  indeed  a  correct  report  of  Mr.  Brandon's 
conversation  with  Becky  ;  he  had  been  infinitely  amused  with 
the  whole  transaction,  and  wrote  his  friend  the  viscount  a 
capital  facetious  account  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
native  inhabitants  of  the  Isle  of  Thanet. 

And  now,  when  Mr.  Fitch's  passion  was  fully  developed — 
as  far,  that  is,  as  sighs  and  ogles  could  give  it  utterance — a 
curious  instance  of  that  spirit  of  contradiction  for  which  our 
race  is  remarkable  was  seen  in  the  behavior  of  Mr.  Brandon. 
Although  Caroline,  in  the  depths  of  her  little  silly  heart,  had 
set  him  down  for  her  divinity,  her  wondrous  fairy  prince,  who 
was  to  deliver  her  from  her  present  miserable  durance,  she  had 
never  byword  or  deed  acquainted  Brandon  with  her  inclination 
for  him,  but  had,  with  instinctive  modesty,  avoided  him  more 
sedulously  than  before.  He,  too,  had  never  bestowed  a 
thought  upon  her.  How  should  such  a  Jove  as  Mr.  PJrandon, 
from  the  cloudy  summit  of  his  fashionable  Olympus,  look 
down  and  perceive  such  an  humble,  retiring  being  as  poor 
little  Caroline  Gann  ?  Thinking  her  at  first  not  disagreeable, 
he  had  never,  until  the  day  of  the  dinner,  bestowed  one  smgle 
further  thought  upon  her  ;  and  only  when  exasperated  by  the 
Miss  Macartys'  behavior  towards  him,  did  he  begin  to  think 
how  sweet  it  would  be  to  make  them  jealous  and  unhappy. 

"  The  uncouth  grinning  monsters,"  said  he,  "  with  their 
horrible  court  of  Bob  Smiths  and  Jack  Joneses,  daring  to  look 
down  upon  me,  a  gentleman, — me,  the  celebrated  mangcur  dcs 
coeurs  —  a  man  of  genius,  fashion,  and  noble  family  !  If  I 
could  but  revenge  myself  on  them  !  What  injury  can  \ 
invent  to  wound  them." 


46  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  SrORY. 

It  is  curious  to  what  points  a  man  in  his  passion  will  go. 
Mr.  Brandon  had  long  since,  in  fact,  tried  to  do  the  greatest 
possible  injury  to  the  young  ladies  ;  for  it  had  been,  at  the  first 
dawn  of  his  acquaintance,  as  we  are  bound  with  much  sorrow 
to  confess,  his  fixed  intention  to  ruin  one  or  the  other  of  them. 
And  when  the  young  ladies  had,  by  their  coldness  and  indiffer- 
ence to  him,  frustrated  this  benevolent  intention,  he  straight- 
way fancied  that  they  had  injured  him  severely,  and  cast  about 
for  means  to  revenge  himself  upon  them. 

This  point  is,  to  be  sure,  a  \e.xy  delicate  one  to  treat, — for 
in  words,  at  least,  the  age  has  grown  to  be  wonderfully  moral, 
and  refuses  to  hear  discourses  upon  such  subjects.  But  human 
nature,  as  far  as  I  am  able  to  learn,  has  not  much  changed 
since  the  time  when  Richardson  wrote  and  Hogarth  painted, 
a  century  ago.  There  are  wicked  Lovelaces  abroad,  ladies, 
now  as  then,  when  it  was  considered  no  shame  to  expose  the 
rogues  ;  and  pardon  us,  therefore,  for  hinting  that  such  there 
be.  Elegant  acts  of  rouerie,  such  as  that  meditated  by  Mr. 
Brandon,  are  often  performed  still  by  dashing  young  men  of 
the  world,  who  think  no  sin  of  an  amourcitc,  but  glory  in  it, 
especially  if  the  victim  be  a  person  of  mean  condition.  Had 
Brandon  succeeded  (such  is  the  high  moral  state  of  our  Brit- 
ish youth),  all  his  friends  would  have  pronounced  him,  and 
he  would  have  considered  himself,  to  be  a  very  lucky,  cap- 
tivating dog  ;  nor,  as  I  believe,  would  he  have  had  a  single 
pang  of  conscience  for  the  rascally  action  which  he  had  com- 
mitted. This  supreme  act  of  scoundrelism  has  man  permitted 
to  himself — to  deceive  women.  When  we  consider  how  he 
has  availed  himself  of  the  privilege  so  created  by  him,  indeed 
one  may  sympathize  with  the  advocates  of  woman's  rights  who 
point  out  this  monstrous  wrong.  We  have  read  of  that 
wretched  woman  of  old  whom  the  pious  Pharisees  were  for 
stoning  incontinently  ;  but  we  don't  hear  that  they  made  any 
outcry  against  tJie  7nati  who  was  concerned  in  the  crime.  \\'here 
was  he  ?  Happy,  no  doubt,  and  easy  in  mind,  and  regaling 
some  choice  friends  over  a  bottle  with  the  history  of  his  success. 

Being  thus  injured  then,  Mr.  Brandon  longed  for  revenge. 
How  should  he  repay  these  impertinent  young  women  for 
slighting  his  addresses?  ^' Pardi,'^  said  he  ;  "just  to  punish 
their  pride  and  insolence,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  make  love  to 
their  sister." 

He  did  not,  however,  for  some  time  condescend  to  perform 
this  threat.  Eagles  such  as  Brandon  do  not  sail  down  from 
the  clouds  in  order  to  pounce  upon  small  flies,  and  soar  air- 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  47 

wards  again,  contented  with  such  an  ignoble  booty.  In  a  word, 
he  never  gave  a  minute's  thought  to  Miss  Caroline,  until  further 
circumstances  occurred  which  caused  this  great  man  to  consider 
her  as  an  object  somewhat  worthy  of  his  remark. 

The  violent  affection  suddenly  exhibited  by  Mr.  Fitch,  the 
painter,  towards  poor  little  Caroline  was  the  point  which  de- 
termined Brandon  to  begin  to  act. 

"My  Dear  Viscount"  (wrote  he  to  the  same  Lord  Cinqbars  whom  he  formerly  .vl- 
dressed) — "  Give  mi  joy,  for  in  a  week's  time  it  is  my  intention  to  be  violently  in  love, — 
and  love  is  no  small  amusement  in  a  watering-place  in  winter. 

"  I  told  you  about  the  fair  Juliana  Gann  and  her  family.  I  forgot  whether  I  mentioned 
how  the  Juliana  had  two  fair  daughters,  the  Rosalind  and  the  Isabella  ;  and  another,  Caro- 
line by  name,  not  so  good-looking  as  her  half-sisters,  but,  nevertheless,  a  pleasing  young 
person. 

"  Well,  when  I  came  hither,  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  fall  in  love  with  the  two  hand- 
somest ;  and  did  so,  taking  many  walks  with  them,  talking  much  nonsense  ;  passing  long 
dismal  evenings  over  horrid  tea  with  them  and  their  mamma :  laying  regular  siege,  in  fact, 
to  these  Margate  beauties,  who,  according  to  the  common  rule  in  such  cases,  could  not,  I 
thought,  last  long. 

"Miserable  deception!  disgusting  aristocratic  blindness!  "  (Mr.  Brandon  always  as- 
sumed that  his  own  high  birth  and  eminent  position  were  granted.)  "  Would  you  believe 
it,  that  I,  who  have  seen,  fought,  and  conquered  in  so  many  places,  should  have  been  igno- 
mmiously  defeated  here?  Just  as  American  Jackson  defeated  our  Peninsular  veterans,  I, 
an  old  Continental  conqueror  too,  have  been  overcome  by  this  ignoble  enemy.  These 
women  have  entrenched  themselves  so  firmly  in  their  vulgarity,  that  I  have  been  beaten 
back  several  times  with  disgrace,  being  quite  unable  to  make  an  impression.  The  monsters, 
too,  keep  up  a  dreadful  fire  from  behind  their  intrenchments  ;  and  besides  have  raised  the 
whole  country  against  me  :  in  a  word,  all  the  snobs  of  their  acquaintance  are  in  arms. 
There  is  Bob  Smith,  the  linendraper ;  Harry  Jones,  who  keeps  the  fancy  tea-shop  ;  young 
Glauber,  the  apothecary  ;  and  sundry  other  persons,  who  are  ready  to  eat  me  when  they 
see  me  in  the  streets  ;  and  are  all  at  the  beck  of  the  victorious  Amazons. 

"How  is  a  gentleman  to  make  head  against  si\c\\  s.  caittiHie  as  this? — a  regular /ac- 
querie.  Once  or  twice  I  liave  thought  of  retreating  ;  but  a  retreat,  for  sundry  reasons  I 
nave,  is  inconvenient.  I  can't  go  to  London  ;  I  am  known  at  Dover  ;  I  believe  there  is  a 
bill  against  me  at  Canterbury;  at  Chatham  there  are  sundry  quartered  regiments  whose 
recognition  I  should  be  unvvilhng  to  risk.  I  must  stay  here — and  be  hanged  to  the  place — 
until  my  better  star  shall  rise. 

"  But  I  am  determined  that  my  stay  shall  be  to  some  purpose  ;  and  so  to  show  how  per- 
severing I  am,  I  shall  make  one  more  trial  upon  the  third  daughter, — yes,  upon  the  third 
daughter,  a  family  Cinderella,  who  shall,  1  am  determined,  make  her  sisters  crever  with 
envy.  I  merely  mean  fun,  you  know — not  mischief. — for  Cinderella  is  but  a  little  child  : 
and,  besides,  I  am  the  most  harmless  fellow  breathing,  but  must  have  my  joke.  Now  Cin- 
derella has  a  lover,  the  bearded  painter  of  whom  I  spoke  to  you  in  a  former  letter.  He  has 
lately  plunged  into  the  most  extraordinary  fits  of  passion  for  her,  and  is  more  mad  than 
ever  he  was  before.  Woe  betide  you,  Opaniter!  I  have  nothing  to  do  :  a  month  to  do 
that  nothing  in  ;  in  tliat  time,  mark  my  words,  I  will  laugh  at  that  painter's  beard.  Should 
you  like  a  lock  of  it,  or  a  sofa  stuffed  with  it  ?  there  is  beard  enough :  or  should  you  like  to 
see  a  specimen  of  poor  little  Cinderella's  golden  ringlets?  Command  your  slave.  I  wish  I 
had  paper  enough  to  write  you  an  account  of  a  grand  Gann  dinner  at  which  I  assisted,  and 
of  a  scene  which  there  took  place  ;  and  how  Cinderella  was  dressed  out,  not  by  a  fairy,  but 
by  a  charitable  kitchen-maid,  and  was  turned  out  of  the  room  by  her  indignant  mamma,  for 
appearing  in  the  scullion's  finery-  But  nv^  forte  does  not  lie  in  such  descriptions  of  polite 
life.  We  drank  port,  and  toasts  after  dinner  :  here  is  the  menu;  and  the  names  and  order 
of  the  eaters." 

The  bill  of  fare  has  been  given  already,  and  need  not,  there- 
fore, be  again  laid  before  the  public. 

"  What  a  fellow  that  is  !  "  said  young  Lord  Cinqbars,  read- 
ing the  letter  to  his  friends,  and  in  a  profound  admiration  of  his 
tutor's  genius. 


48  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

"  And  to  think  that  he  was  a  reading  man  too,  and  took  a 
double  first,"  cried  another;  "why,  the  man's  an  Admirable 
Crichton." 

"Upon  my  life,  though,  he's  a  little  too  bad,"  said  a  third, 
who  was  a  moralist.  And  with  this  a  fresh  bowl  of  milk-punch 
came  reeking  from  the  college  butteries,  and  the  jovial  party 
discussed  that. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CONTAINS   A   GREAT   DEAL   OF   COMPLICATED   LOVE-MAKING. 

The  Misses  Macarty  were  excessively  indignant  that  Mr. 
Fitch  should  have  had  the  audacity  to  fall  in  love  with  their  sis- 
ter ;  and  poor  Caroline's  life  w-as  not,  as  may  be  imagined,  made 
much  the  happier  by  the  envy  and  passion  thus  excited.  Mr. 
Fitch's  amour  was  the  source  of  a  great  deal  of  pain  to  her. 
Her  mother  would  tauntingly  say,  that  as  both  were  beggars, 
they  could  not  do  better  than  marry  ;  and  declared,  in  the  same 
satirical  way,  that  she  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  see  a 
large  family  of  grandchildren  about  her,  to  be  plagues  and 
burdens  upon  her,  as  her  daughter  was.  The  short  way  would 
have  been,  when  the  young  painter's  intentions  were  manifest, 
which  they  pretty  speedily  were,  to  have  requested  him  imme- 
diately to  quit  the  house  ;  or,  as  Mr.  Gann  said,  "  to  give  him 
the  sack  at  once  ; "  to  which  measure  the  worthy  man  indig- 
nantly avowed  that  he  w^ould  have  resort.  But  his  lady  would 
not  allow  of  any  such  rudeness  ;  although,  for  her  part,  she 
professed  the  strongest  scorn  and  contempt  for  the  painter. 
¥ox  the  painful  fact  must  be  stated :  Fitch  had  a  short  time 
previously  paid  no  less  a  sum  than  a  whole  quarter's  board  and 
lodging  in  advance,  at  Mrs.  Gann's  humble  request,  and  he 
possessed  his  landlady's  receipt  for  that  sum  ;  the  mention  of 
which  circumstance  silenced  Gann's  objections  at  once.  And 
indeed,  it  is  pretty  certain  that,  with  all  her  taunts  to  her 
daughter  and  just  abuse  of  Fitch's  poverty,  Mrs.  Gann  in  her 
heart  was  not  altogether  averse  to  the  match.  In  the  first 
place,  she  loved  match-making  ;  next,  she  would  be  glad  to  be 
rid  of  her  daughter  at  any  rate  ;  and  besides,  Fitch's  aunt,  the 
auctioneer's  wife,  was  rich,  and  had  no  children  ;  painters,  as 
she  had  heard,  make  often  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  Fitch 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


49 


might  be  a  clever  one,  for  aught  she  knew.  So  he  was  allowed 
to  remain  in  the  house,  an  undeclared  but  very  assiduous  lover  ; 
and  to  sigh,  and  to  moan,  and  make  verses  and  portraits  of  his 
beloved,  and  build  castles  in  the  air  as  best  he  might.  Indeed 
our  humble  Cinderella  was  in  a  very  curious  position.  She 
felt  a  tender  passion  for  the  first  floor,  and  was  adored  by  the 
second  floor,  and  had  to  wait  upon  both  at  the  summons  of  the 
bell  of  either  ;  and  as  the  poor  little  thing  was  compelled  not 
to  notice  any  of  the  sighs  and  glances  which  the  painter  be- 
stowed upon  her,  she  also  had  schooled  herself  to  maintain  a 
quiet  demeanor  towards  Mr.  Brandon,  and  not  allow  him  to 
discover  the  secret  which  was  laboring  in  her  little  breast. 

I  think  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  pretty  general  rule,  that 
most  romantic  little  girls  of  Caroline's  age  have  such  a  budding 
sentiment  as  this  young  person  entertained  ;  quite  innocent  of 
course  ;  nourished  and  talked  of  in  delicious  secrecy  to  the 
conjtdante  of  the  hour.  Or  else  what  are  novels  made  for.^ 
Had  Caroline  read  of  Valancourt  and  Emily  for  nothing,  or 
gathered  no  good  example  from  those  five  tear-fraught  volumes 
which  describe  the  loves  of  Miss  Helen  Mar  and  Sir  William 
Wallace  ?  Many  a  time  had  she  depicted  Brandon  in  a  fancy 
costume,  such  as  the  fascinating  Valancourt  wore  ;  or  painted 
herself  as  Helen,  tying  a  sash  round  her  knight's  cuirass,  and 
watching  him  forth  to  battle.  Silly  fancies,  no  doubt ;  but  con- 
sider, madam,  the  poor  girl's  age  and  education ;  the  only  in- 
struction she  had  ever  received  was  from  these  tender,  kind- 
hearted,  silly  books  :  the  only  happiness  which  Fate  had 
allowed  her  was  in  this  little  silent  world  of  fancy.  It  would 
be  hard  to  grudge  the  poor  thing  her  dreams  ;  and  many  such 
did  she  have,  and  impart  blushingly  to  honest  Becky,  as  they 
sate  by  the  humble  kitchen-fire. 

Although  it  cost  her  heart  a  great  pang,  she  had  once  ven- 
tured to  implore  her  mother  not  to  send  her  up  stairs  to  the 
lodgers'  rooms,  for  she  shrunk  at  the  notion  of  the  occurrence 
that  Brandon  should  discover  her  regard  for  him  ;  but  this 
point  had  never  entered  Mrs.  Gann's  sagacious  head.  She 
thought  her  daughter  wished  to  avoid  Fitch,  and  sternly  bade 
her  do  her  duty,  and  not  give  herself  such  impertinent  airs  ; 
and,  indeed,  it  can't  be  said  that  poor  Caroline  was  very  sorry 
at  being  compelled  to  continue  to  see  Brandon.  To  do  both 
gentlemen  justice,  neither  ever  said  a  word  unfit  for  Caroline 
to  hear.  Fitch  would  have  been  torn  to  pieces  by  a  thousand 
wild  horses  rather  than  have  breathed  a  single  syllable  to  hurt 
her  feelings  ;  and  Brandon,  though  by  no  means  so  squeamisl 

4 


5° 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY 


on  ordinary  occasions,  was  innately  a  gentleman,  and  from 
taste  rather  than  from  virtue,  was  carefully  respectful  in  his 
behavior  to  her. 

As  for  the  Misses  Macarty  themselves,  it  has  been  stated 
that  they  had  already  given  away  their  hearts  several  times  ; 
Miss  Isabella  being  at  this  moment  attached  to  a  certain  young 
wine-merchant,  and  to  Lieutenant  or  Colonel  Swabber  of  the 
Spanish  service  ;  and  Miss  Rosalind  having  a  decided  fondness 
for  a  foreign  nobleman,  with  black  mustachios,  who  had  paid  a 
visit  to  Margate.  Of  Miss  Bella's  lovers.  Swabber  had  disap- 
peared ;  but  she  still  met  the  wine-merchant  pretty  often,  and  it 
is  believed  had  gone  very  nigh  to  accept  him.  As  for  Miss 
Rosalind,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  the  course  of  her  true  love  ran 
by  no  means  smoothly  :  the  Frenchman  had  turned  out  to  be 
not  a  marquess,  but  a  billiard-marker  ;  and  a  sad,  sore  subject 
the  disappointment  was  with  the  neglected  lady. 

We  should  have  spoken  of  it  long  since  had  the  subject  been 
one  that  was  much  canvassed  in  the  Gann  family ;  but  once 
when  Gann  had  endeavored  to  rally  his  stepdaughter  on  this 
unfortunate  attachment  (using  for  the  purpose  those  delicate 
terms  of  wit  for  which  the  honest  gentleman  was  always  famous). 
Miss  Linda  had  flown  into  such  a  violent  fury,  and  comported 
herself  in  a  way  so  dreadful,  that  James  Gann,  Esquire,  was 
fairly  frightened  out  of  his  wits  by  the  threats,  screams,  and 
imprecations  which  she  uttered.  Miss  Bella,  who  was  disposed 
to  be  jocose  likewise,  was  likewise  awed  into  silence  ;  for  her 
dear  sister  talked  of  tearing  her  eyes  out  that  minute,  and 
uttered  some  hints,  too,  regarding  love-matters  personally  affect- 
ing Miss  Bella  herself,  which  caused  that  young  lady  to  turn 
pale-red,  to  mutter  something  about  "wicked  lies,"  and  to 
leave  the  room  immediately.  Nor  was  the  subject  ever  again 
broached  by  the  Ganns.  Even  when  Mrs.  Gann  once  talked 
about  that  odious  French  impostor,  she  was  stopped  immediately, 
not  by  the  lady  concerned,  but  by  Miss  Bell^a,  who  cried,  sharply, 
"  ALamma,  hold  your  tongue,  and  don't  vex  our  dear  Linda  by 
alluding  to  any  such  stuff."  It  is  most  probable  that  the  young 
ladies  had  had  a  private  conference,  which,  beginning  a  little 
fiercely  at  first,  had  ended  amicably  :  and  so  the  marquess  was 
mentioned  no  more. 

Miss  Linda,  then,  was  comparatively  free  (for  Bob  Smith, 
the  lincndraper,  and  young  Glauber,  the  apothecary,  went  for 
nothing);  and,  very  luckily  for  her,  a  successor  was  found  for 
the  faithless  Frenchman,  almost  immediatelv. 

This  gentleman  was  a  commoner,  to  l:)e    sure ;  but   had  a 


A  SHABB  Y  GENTEEL  STOR  Y 


5' 


good  estate  of  five  hundred  a  year,  kept  his  horse  and  gig,  and 
was,  as  Mr.  Gann  remarked,  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  lived. 
Let  us  say  at  once  that  the  new  lover  was  no  other  than  Mr. 
Swigby.  From  the  day  when  he  had  been  introduced  to  the 
family  he  appeared  to  be  very  much  attracted  by  the  two  sisters  ; 
sent  a  turkey  off  his  own  farm,  and  six  bottles  of  prime  Hol- 
lands, to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gann,  in  presents  ;  and,  in  ten  short 
days  after  his  first  visit,  had  informed  his  friend  Gann  that  he 
was  violently  in  love  with  two  women  whose  names  he  would 
never — never  breathe.  The  worthy  Gann  knew  right  well  how 
the  matter  was ;  for  he  had  not  failed  to  remark  Swigby's  mel- 
ancholy, and  to  attribute  it  to  its  right  cause. 

Swigby  was  forty-eight  years  of  age,  stout,  hearty,  gay,  much 
given  to  drink,  and  had  never  been  a  lady's  man,  or,  indeed, 
passed  half-a-dozen  evenings  in  ladies'  society.  He  thought 
Gann  the  noblest  and  finest  fellow  in  the  world.  He  never 
heard  any  singing  like  James's,  nor  any  jokes  like  his  ;  nor  had 
met  with  such  an  accomplished  gentleman  or  man  of  the  world. 
"  Gann  has  his  faults,"  Swigby  would  say  at  the  "  Bag  of 
Nails  \ "  which  of  us  has  not  ? — but  I  ~tell  you  what,  he's  the 
greatest  trump  I  ever  see."  Many  scores  of  scores  had  he  paid 
for  Gann,  many  guineas'  and  crown-pieces  had  he  lent  him, 
since  he  came  into  his  property  some  three  years  before.  What 
were  Swigby's  former  pursuits  I  can't  tell.  What  need  we 
care  ?  Hadn't  he  fi\^  hundred  a  year  now,  and  a  horse  and 
gig  ?     Ay,  that  he  had. 

Since  his  accession  to  fortune,  this  gay  young  bachelor  had 
taken  his  share  (what  he  called  "  his  whack  ")  of  pleasure  ;  had 
been  at  one — nay,  perhaps,  at  two — pubiic-houses  every  night ; 
and  had  been  tipsy,  I  make  no  doubt,  nearly  a  thousand  times 
in  the  course  of  the  three  years.  Many  people  had  tried  to 
cheat  him  ;  but,  no,  no  !  he  knew  what  was  what,  and  in  all 
matters  of  money  was  simple  and  shrewd.  Gann's  gentility 
won  him  ;  his  bragging,  his  fo/i,  and  the  stylish  tuft  on  his  chin. 
To  be  invited  to  his  house  was  a  proud  moment ;  and  when  he 
went  away,  after  the  banquet  described  in  the  last  chapter,  he 
was  in  a  perfect  ferment  of  love  and  liquor. 

"  What  a  stylish  woman  is  that  Mrs.  Gann  !  "  thought  he, 
as  he  tumbled  into  bed  at  his  inn  ;  fine  she  must  have  been  as 
a  gal !  fourteen  stone  now,  without  saddle  or  bridle,  and  no 
mistake.  And  them  Miss  Macartys.  Jupiter!  what  spanking, 
handsome,  elegant  creatures  ! — real  elegance  in  both  on  'em ! 
Such  hair ! — black's  the  word — as  black  as  my  mare  ;  such 
cheeks,  such  necks,  and  shoulders  !  "     At  noon  he   repeated 


^2  A  SJJABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

these  observations  to  Gann  himself,  as  ho  walked  up  and  down 
the  pier  with  that  gentlemen,  smoking  Manilla  cheroots.  He 
was  in  I'aptures  with  his  evening.  Gann  received  his  praises 
with  much  majestic  good-humor. 

"Blood,  sir!"  said  he,  "blood's  everything!  Them  gals 
have  been  brought  up  as  few  ever  have.  I  don't  speak  of 
myself ;  but  their  mother — their  mother's  a  lady,  sir.  Show  me 
a  woman  in  England  as  is  better  bred  or  knows  the  workl  more 
than  my  Juliana  !  " 

"  It's  impawssible,"  said  Swigby. 

"  Think  of  the  company  we've  kep',  sir,  before  our  misfor- 
tunes —  the  fust  in  the  land.  Brandenburg  House,  sir, — 
England's  injured  queen.  Law  bless  you  !  Juliana  was  always 
there." 

"I  make  no  doubt,  sir  ;  you  can  see  it  in  her,"  said  Swigby, 
solemnlv. 

"  And  as  for  those  gals,  why,  ain't  they  related  to  the  fust 
families  in  Ireland,  sir? — In  course  they  are.  As  I  said  before, 
blood's  everything  ;  and  those  young  women  have  the  best  of  it  j 
they  are  connected  with  the  reg'lar  old  noblesse." 

"  They  have  the  best  of  everythink,  I'm  sure,"  said  Swigby, 
"  and  deserve  it,  too,"  and  relapsed  itito  his  morning  remarks. 
"  What  creatures  !  what  elegance  !  what  hair  and  eyes,  sir  ! — 
black,  and  all's  black,  as  I  say.  What  complexion,  sir ! — ay, 
and  what  makes,  too  !    Such  a  neck  and  shoulders  I  never  see  !  " 

Gann,  who  had  his  hands  in  his  pockets  (his  friend's  arm 
being  hooked  into  one  of  his),  here  suddenly  withdrew  his  hand 
from  its  hiding-place,  clenched  his  fist,  assumed  a  horrible 
knowing  grin,  and  gave  Mr.  Swigby  such  a  blow  in  the  ribs  as 
wellnigh  sent  him  into  the  water,  "You  sly  dog !"  said  Mr. 
Gann,  with  inexpressible  emphasis ;  "you've  found  that  out,  too, 
have  you  ?     Have  a  care,  Joe,  my  boy, — have  a  care," 

And  herewith  Gann  and  Joe  burst  into  tremendous  roars  of 
laughter,  fresh  explosions  taking  place  at  intervals  of  five 
minutes  during  the  rest  of  the  walk.  The  two  friends  parted 
exceedingly  happy  ;  and  when  they  met  that  evening  at  "The 
Nails,"  Gann  drew  Swigby  mysteriously  into  the  bar,  and  thrust 
into  his  hand  a  triangular  piece  of  pink  paper,  which  the  latter 
read  : — 

"Mrs.  Gann  and  the  Misses  Macarty  request  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  Mr.  Swigby's 
Company  (if  you  liave  no  better  engagement)  to  tea  to-morrow  evening,  at  half-past  five, 
"  Margaretta  Cottag-e,  Salavtatica  Road  JVorl/i, 
Thnrsday  evening.'''' 

The  faces  of  the  two  gentlemen  were  wonderfully  expressive 
of  satisfaction  as  this  communication  jDassed  between  them. 


A  SHABB  Y  GENTEEL  STOR  Y.  53 

And  I  am  led  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Gann  had  been  unusually 
pleased  with  her  husband's  conduct  on  that  day  :  for  honest 
James  had  no  less  than  thirteen  and  sixpence  in  his  pocket,  and 
insisted,  as  usual,  upon  standing  glasses  all  round.  Joe  Swigby, 
left  alone  in  the  little  parlor  behind  the  bar,  called  for  a  sheet 
of  paper,  a  new  pen  and  a  wafer,  and  in  the  space  of  half  an 
hour  concocted  a  very  spirited  and  satisfactory  answer  to  this 
note  ;  which  was  carried  off  by  Gann,  and  duly  delivered. 
Punctually  at  half-past  five,  Mr.  Joseph  Swigby  knocked  at 
Margaretta  Cottage  door,  in  his  new  coat  with  glistening  brass 
buttons,  his  face  clean-shaved,  and  his  great  ears  shining  over 
his  great  shirt-collar  delightfully  bright  and  red. 

What  happened  at  this  tea-party  it  is  needless  here  to  say  ; 
but  Swigby  came  away  from  it  quite  as  much  enchanted  as 
before,  and  declared  that  the  duets,  sung  by  the  ladies  in 
hideous  discord,  were  the  sweetest  music  he  had  ever  heard. 
He  sent  the  gin  and  the  turkey  the  next  day ;  and,  of  course, 
was  invited  to  dine. 

The  dinner  was  followed  up  on  his  part  by  an  offer  to  drive 
all  the  young  ladies  and  their  mamma  into  the  country  ;  and  he 
hired  a  very  smart  barouche  to  conduct  them.  The  invitation 
was  not  declined  ;  and  Fitch,  too,  was  asked  by  Mr.  Swigby,  in 
the  height  of  his  good-humor,  and  accepted  with  the  utmost 
delight.  "  Me  and  Joe  will  go  on  the  box,"  said  Gann,  "  You 
four  ladies  and  Mr.  Fitch  shall  go  inside.  Carry  must  go 
bodkin  ;  but  she  ain't  very  big." 

"  Carry,  indeed,  will  stop  at  home,"  said  her  mamma  ;  "  she's 
not  fit  to  go  out." 

At  which  poor  Fitch's  jaw  fell ;  it  was  in  order  to  ride  with 
her  that  he  had  agreed  to  accompany  the  party  ;  nor  could  he 
escape  now,  having  just  promised  so  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  don't  let's  have  that  proud  Brandon,"  said  the  young 
ladies",  when  the  good-natured  Mr.  Swigby  proposed  to  ask  that 
gentleman  ;  and  therefore  he  was  not  invited  to  join  them  in 
their  excursion  ;  but  he  stayed  at  home  very  unconcernedly, 
and  saw  the  barouche  and  its  load  drive  off.  Somebody  else 
looked  at  it  from  the  parlor-window  with  rather  a  heavy  heart ; 
and  that  some  one  was  poor  Caroline.  The  day  was  bright  and 
sunshiny  ;  the  spring  was  beginning  early ;  it  would  have  been 
pleasant  to  have  been  a  lady  for  once,  and  to  have  driven  along 
in  a  carriage  with  prancing  horses.  Mr.  Fitch  looked  after  her 
in  a  very  sheepish,  melancholy  way ;  and  was  so  dismal  and 
silly  during  the  first  part  of  the  journey,  that  Miss  Linda,  who 
was  next  to  him,  said  to  her  papa  that  she  would  change  places 


54 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


with  liim  ;  and  actually  mounted  the  box  by  the  side  of  the 
happy,  trembling  Mr.  Svvigby.  How  proud  he  was,  to  be  sure  ! 
How  knowingly  did  he  spank  the  horses  along,  and  fling  out 
the  shillings  at  the  turnpikes  ! 

"  Bless  you,  he  don't  care  for  change  !  "  said  Gann,  as  one 
of  the  toll-takers  offered  to  render  some  coppers  ;  and  Joe 
felt  infinitely  obliged  to  his  friend  for  setting  off  his  amiable 
qualities  in  such  a  way. 

O  mighty  Fate,  that  over  us  miserable  mortals  rulest  supreme, 
with  what  small  means  are  thy  ends  effected  ! — with  what  scorn- 
ful ease  and  mean  instruments  does  it  please  thee  to  govern 
mankind  !  Let  each  man  think  of  the  circumstances  of  his  life, 
and  how  its  lot  has  been  determined.  The  getting  up  a  little 
earlier  or  later,  the  turning  down  this  street  or  that,  the  eating 
of  this  dish  or  the  other,  may  influence  all  the  years  and  actions 
of  a  future  life.  Mankind  walks  down  the  left-hand  side  of 
Regent  Street  instead  of  the  right,  and  meets  a  friend  who  asks 
him  to  dinner,  and  goes,  and  finds  the  turtle  remarkably  good, 
and  the  iced  punch  very  cool  and  pleasant ;  and,  being  in  a 
merry,  jovial,  idle  mood,  has  no  objection  to  a  social  rubber  of 
whist — nay,  to  a  few  more  glasses  of  that  cool  punch.  In  the 
most  careless,  good-humored  way,  he  loses  a  few  points  ;  and 
still  feels  thirsty,  and  loses  a  few  more  points  ;  and,  like  a  man 
of  spirit,  increases  his  stakes,  to  be  sure,  and  just  by  that  walk 
down  Regent  Street  is  ruined  for  life.  Or  he  walks  down  the 
right-hand  side  of  Regent  Street  instead  of  the  left,  and,  good 
heavens!  who  is  that  charming  young  creature  who  has  just 
stepped  into  her  carriage  from  Mr.  Fraser's  shop,  and  to  whom 
and  her  mamma  Mr.  Fraser  has  made  the  most  elegant  bow  in 
the  world.?  It  is  the  lovely  Miss  Moidore,  with  a  hundred 
thousand  pounds,  who  has  remarked  your  elegant  figure,  and 
regularly  drives  to  town  on  the  first  of  the  month,  to  purchase 
her  darling  Magazine.  You  drive  after  her  as  fast  as  the  hack- 
cab  will  carry  you.  She  reads  the  Magazine  the  whole  way. 
She  stops  at  her  papa's  elegant  villa  at  Hampstead,  with  a  con- 
servatory, a  double  coach-house,  and  a  park-like  ]:)addock.  As 
the  lodge-gate  separates  you  from  that  dear  girl,  she  looks  back 
just  once,  and  blushes.  Eruhuit,  salva  est  res.  She  has  blushed, 
and  you  are  all  right.  In  a  week  you  are  introduced  to  the  family, 
and  pronounced  a  charming  young  fellow  of  high  principles.  In 
three  weeks  you  have  danced  twenty-nine  quadrilles  with  her, 
and  v.'hisked  her  through  several  miles  of  waltzes.  In  a  month 
Mrs.  O'Flaherty  has  flung  herself  into  the  arms  of  her  mother, 
just  having  come  from  a  visit  to  the  village  of  Gretna,  near 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


55 


Carlisle  ;  and  you  have  an  account  al  your  banker's  ever  after. 
What  is  the  cause  of  all  this  good  fortune  ? — a  walk  on  a  par- 
ticular side  of  Regent  Street.  And  so  true  and  indisputable  is 
this  fact,  that  there's  a  young  north-country  gentleman  with 
whom  1  am  acquainted,  that  daily  paces  up  and  down  the  above- 
named  street  for  many  hours,  fully  expecting  that  such  an  ad- 
venture will  happen  to  him  ;  for  which  end  he  keeps  a  cab  in 
readiness  at  the  corner  of  Vigo  Lane. 

Now,  after  a  dissertation  in  this  history,  the  reader  is  pretty 
sure  to  know  that  a  moral  is  coming ;  and  the  facts  connected 
with  our  tale,  which  are  to  be  drawn  from  the  above  little  essay 
on  fate,  are  simply  these  :  i.  If  Mr.  Fitch  had  not  heard  Mr. 
Swigby  invite  all  the  ladies,  he  would  have  refused  Swigby's  in- 
vitation, and  stayed  at  home.  2.  If  he  had  not  been  in  the 
carriage,  it  is  quite  certain  that  Miss  Rosalind  Macarty  would 
not  have  been  seated  by  him  on  the  back  seat.  3.  If  he  had 
not  been  sulky,  she  never  would  have  asked  her  papa  to  let  her 
take  his  place  on  the  box.  4.  If  she  had  not  taken  her  papa's 
place  on  the  box,  not  one  of  the  circumstances  would  have 
happened  which  did  happen  ;  and  which  were  as  follows  : — 

1.  Miss  Bella  remained  inside. 

2.  Mr.  Swigby,  who  was  wavering  between  the  two,  like  a 
certain  animal  between  two  bundles  of  hay,  was  determined  by 
this  circumstance,  and  made  proposals  to  Miss  Linda,  whisper- 
ing to  Miss  Linda  :  "  Miss,  I  ain't  equal  to  the  like  of  you  ;  but 
I'm  hearty,  healthy,  and  have  five  hundred  a  year.  Will  you 
marry  me  ?  "  In  fact,  this  very  speech  had  been  taught  him  by 
cunning  Gann,  who  saw  well  enough  that  Swigby  would  speak 
to  one  or  other  of  his  daughters.  And  to  it  the  young  lady  re- 
plied, also  in  a  whispering,  agitated  tone,  "  Law,  Mr.  S.  !  What 
an  odd  man  !  How  can  you  ?  "  And,  after  a  little  pause,  added, 
"  Speak  to  mammal 

3.  (And  this  is  the  main  point  of  my  story.)  If  little  Caro- 
line had  been  allowed  to  go  out,  she  never  would  have  been 
left  alone  with  Brandon  at  Margate.  When  Fate  wills  that 
something  should  come  to  pass,  she  sends  forth  a  million  of 
little  circumstances  to  clear  and  prepare  the  way. 

In  the  month  of  April  (as  indeed  in  a  half-a-score  of  other 
months  of  the  year)  the  reader  may  have  remarked  that  the 
cold  north-east  wind  is  prevalent ;  and  that  when,  tempted  by 
a  glimpse  of  sunshine,  he  issues  forth  to  take  the  air,  he  receives 
not  only  it,  but  such  a  quantity  of  it  as  is  enough  to  keep  him 
shivering  through  the  rest  of  the  miserable  month.  On  one  of 
these  happy  days  of  English  weather  (it  was  the  verj^  day  before 


5 6  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

the  pleasure-party  described  in  the  last  chapter)  Mr.  Brandon 
cursing  heartily  his  country,  and  thinking  how  infinitely  more 
congenial  to  him  were  the  winds  and  habits  prevalent  in  other 
nations,  was  marching  over  the  cliffs  near  Margate,  in  the 
midst  of  a  storm  of  shrill  east  wind  which  no  ordinary  mortal 
could  bear,  when  he  found  perched  on  the  cliff,  his  fingers  blue 
with  cold,  the  celebrated  Andrea  Fitch,  employed  in  sketching 
a  land  or  a  sea  scape  on  a  sheet  of  gray  paper. 

"  You  have  chosen  a  fine  day  for  sketching,"  said  Mr.  Bran- 
don, bitterly,  his  thin  aquiline  nose  peering  out  livid  from  the 
fur  collar  of  his  coat. 

Mr.  Fitch  smiled,  understanding  the  allusion, 

"An  hartist,  sir,"  said  he,  "doesn't  mind  the  coldness  of 
the  weather.  There  was  a  chap  in  the  Academy  who  took 
sketches  twenty  degrees  below  zero  in  Hiceland — Mount  'Ecla, 
sir  !  E  was  the  man  that  gave  the  first  hidea  of  Mount  'Ecla  for 
the  Surrey  Zoological  Gardens." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  wonderful  enthusiast ! "  said  Mr. 
Brandon ;  "  I  fancy  that  most  would  prefer  to  sit  at  home,  and 
not  numb  their  fingers  in  such  a  freezing  storm  as  this  !  " 

"  Storm,  sir  !  "  replied  Fitch,  majestically  ;  "  I  live  in  a  storm, 
sir  !  A  true  hartist  is  never  so  'appy  as  when  he  can  have  the 
advantage  to  gaze  upon  yonder  tempestuous  hocean  in  one  of 
its  hangry  moods." 

"  Ay,  there  comes  the  steamer,"  answered  Mr.  Brandon  ; 
"  I  can  fancy  that  there  are  a  score  of  unhappy  people  on  board 
who  are  not  artists,  and  would  wish  to  behold  your  ocean 
quiet." 

"  They  are  not  poets,  sir  :  the  glorious  hever-changing  ex- 
pression of  the  great  countenance  of  Nature  is  not  seen  by 
them.  I  should  consider  myself  unworthy  of  my  hart,  if  I  could 
not  bear  a  little  privation  of  cold  or  'eat  for  its  sake.  And  be- 
sides, sir,  whatever  their  hardships  may  be,  such  a  sight  hamply 
repays  me ;  for,  although  my  private  sorrows  may  be  (has  they 
are)  tremendous,  I  never  can  look  abroad  upon  the  green 
hearth  and  hawful  sea,  without  in  a  measure  forgetting  my  per- 
sonal woes  and  wrongs  ;  for  what  right  has  a  poor  creature  like 
me  to  think  of  his  affairs  in  the  presence  of  such  a  spectacle  as 
this  .''  I  can't,  sir  ;  I  feel  ashamed  of  myself  ;  I  bow  my  'ead 
and  am  quiet.  When  I  set  myself  to  examining  hart,  sir  (by 
which  I  mean  nature),  I  don't  dare  to  think  of  anything  else." 

"  You  worship  a  very  charming  and  consoling  mistress." 
answered  Mr.  Brandon,  with  a  supercilious  air,  lighting  and  be- 
ginning to  smoke  a  cigar;  "your  enthusiasm  does  you  credit." 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  57 

"If  you  have  another,"'  said  Andrea  Fitch,  "I  should  hke 
to  smoke  one,  for  you  seem  to  have  a  real  feeling  about  hart, 
and  I  was  a-getting  so  deucedly  cold  here,  that  really  there  was 
scarcely  any  bearing  of  it." 

"The  cold  is  very  severe,"  replied  Mr.  Brandon. 

"  No,  no,  it's  not  the  weather,  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Fitch  ;  "  it's 
here,  sir,  here  "  (pointing  to  the  left  side  of  his  waistcoat). 

"  What !  you,  too,  have  had  sorrows  .-'  " 

"  Sorrows,  sir  !  hagonies — hagonies,  which  I  have  never  un- 
folded to  any  mortal !  I  have  hendured  halmost  hevery  thing. 
Poverty,  sir,  'unger,  hobloquy,  'opeiess  love  !  but  for  my  hart, 
sir,  I  should  be  the  most  miserable  wretch  in  the  world  ! " 

And  herewith  Mr.  Fitch  began  to  pour  forth  into  Mr. 
Brandon's  ears  the  history  of  some  of  those  sorrows  under 
which  he  labored,  and  which  he  communicated  to  every  single 
person  who  would  listen  to  him. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  greatly  amused  by  Fitch's  prattle,  and  the 
latter  told  him  under  what  privations  he  had  studied  his  art : 
how  he  had  starved  for  three  years  in  Paris  and  Rome,  while 
laboring  at  his  profession ;  how  meanly  jealous  the  Royal 
Academy  was  which  would  never  exhibit  a  single  one  of  his 
pictures  ;  how  he  had  been  driven  from  the  Heternal  City  by 
the  attentions  of  an  immense  fat  Mrs.  Carrickfergus,  who  abso- 
lutely proposed  marriage  to  him  ;  and  how  he  was  at  this 
moment  (a  fact  of  which  Mr.  Brandon  was  already  quite  aware) 
madly  and  desperately  in  love  with  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
maidens  in  this  world.  For  Fitch,  having  a  mistress  to  his 
heart's  desire,  was  boiling  with  impatience  to  have  a  confidant ; 
what,  indeed,  would  be  the  joy  of  love,  if  one  were  not  allowed 
to  speak  of  one's  feelings  to  a  friend  who  could  know  how  to 
sympathize  with  them  ?  Fitch  was  sure  Brandon  did,  because 
Brandon  was  the  very  first  person  with  whom  the  painter  had 
talked  since  he  had  come  to  the  resolution  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter. 

"  I  hope  she  is  as  rich  as  that  unlucky  Mrs,  Carrickfergus, 
whom  you  treated  so  cruelly  ? "  said  the  confidant,  affecting 
entire  ignorance. 

"  Rich,  sir  ?  no,  I  thank  heaven,  she  has  not  a  penny  ! " 
said  Fitch. 

"  I  presume,  then,  you  are  yourself  independent,"  said 
Brandon,  smiling  ;  "for  in  the  marriage  state,  one  or  the  other 
of  the  parties  concerned  should  bring  a  portion  of  the  filthy 
lucre." 

"  Haven't  I  my  profession,  sir  ?  "   said  Fitch,  majestically, 


.8  A  SriABDY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

having  declared  five  nunules  before  thai  he  starved  in  his  pro- 
fession, "  Do  you  suppose  a  painter  gets  nothing?  Haven't 
1  liorders  from'  tlie  first  people  in  Europe  ? — commissions,  sir, 
to  hexecute  'istory-pieces,  battle-pieces,  haltar-pieces  ?  " 

"  Master-pieces,  I  am  sure,"  said  Brandon,  bowing  politely, 
"  for  a  gentleman  of  your  astonishing  genius  can  do  no  other." 

The  delighted  artist  received  this  compliment  with  many 
blushes,  and  vowed  and  protested  that  his  performances  were 
not  really  worthy  of  such  high  praise ;  but  he  fancied  Mr. 
Brandon  a  great  connoisseur,  nevertheless,  and  unburdened 
his  mind  to  him  in  a  manner  still  more  open.  Fitch's  sketch 
was  by  this  time  finished  ;  and,  putting  his  drawing  implements 
together,  he  rose,  and  the  gentlemen  walked  away.  The  sketch 
was  hugely  admired  by  Mr.  Brandon,  and  when  they  came 
home.  Fitch,  culling  it  dexterously  out  of  his  book,  presented  it 
in  a  neat  speech  to  his  friend,  "  the  gifted  hamateur." 

"  The  gifted  hamateur  "  received  the  drawing  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  thanks,  and  so  much  did  he  value  it,  that  he  had 
actually  torn  off  a  piece  to  light  a  cigar  with,  when  he  saw  that 
w^ords  were  written  on  the  other  side  of  the  paper,  and  de- 
ciphered the  following  : — 

"  SONG    OF    THE    VIOLET. 

*'  A  humble  flower  long  time  I  pined, 

Upon  the  solitary  plain. 
And  trembled  at  the  angry  wind, 

And  shrunk  before  the  bitter  rain. 
And,  oh  !   'twas  in  a  blessed  hour, 

A  passing  wanderer  chanced  to  se« 
And,  pitying  the  lonely  flower, 

To  stoop  and  gather  me. 

"  I  fear  no  more  the  tempest  rude, 

On  dreary  heath  no  more  I  pine, 
But  left  my  cheerless  solitude. 

To  deck  the  breast  of  Caroline. 
Alas!  our  days  are  brief  at  best, 

Nor  long  J  fear  will  mine  endure, 
Though  shelter'd  here  upon  a  breast 

So  gentle  and  so  pure. 

"  It  draws  the  fragrance  from  my  leaves, 
It  robs  me  c)f  my  sweetest  breath  ; 
And  every  time  it  falls  and  heaves, 
It  warns  me  of  my  coming  death. 
Hut  one  I  know  would  glad  forego 

All  joys  of  life  to  be  as  I  ; 
An  hour  to  rest  on  that  sweet  breast, 
And  then,  contented,  to  die. 

■'  Andrea." 

When  Mr.  Brandon  had  finished  the  perusal  of  these  verses, 
he  laid  them  down  with  an  air  of  considerable  vexation. 
"  Egad  !  "  said  he,  "  this  fellow,  fool  as  he  is,  is  not  so  great  a 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


S9 


tool  as  he  seems  ;  and  if  he  goes  on  tliis  way,  may  finish  l)y 
turning  the  girl's  head.  They  can't  resist  a  man  if  he  but 
presses  hard  enough — I  know  they  can't !  "  And  here  Mr. 
Brandon  mused  over  his  various  experience,  which  confirmed 
his  observation,  that  be  a  man  ever  so  silly,  a  gentlewoman 
will  yield  to  him  out  of  sheer  weariness.  And  he'  thought  of 
several  cases  in  which,  by  the  persevering  application  of  copies 
of  verses,  young  ladies  had  been  brought  from  dislike  to  suf- 
ferance of  a  man,  from  sufferance  to  partiality,  and  from 
partiality  to  St.  George's,  Hanover  Squaris.  "A  ruffian  who 
murders  his  h's  to  carry  off  such  a  delicate  little  creature  as 
that  !  "  cried  he  in  a  transport :  '*  it  shall  never  be  if  I  can 
prevent  it !  "  He  thought  Caroline  more  and  more  beautiful 
every  instant,  and  was  himself  by  this  time  almost  as  much  in 
love  with  her  as  Fitch  himself. 

Mr.  Brandon,  then,  saw  Fitch  depart  in  Swigby's  carriage 
with  no  ordinary  feelings  of  pleasure.  Miss  Caroline  was  not 
with  them.  "  Now  is  my  time  !  "  thought  Brandon  ;  and,  ring- 
ing the  bell,  he  inquired  with  some  anxiety,  from  Beck)-,  where 
Miss  Caroline  was  .''  It  must  be  confessed  that  mistress  and 
maid  were  at  their  usual  occupation,  working  and  reading 
novels  in  the  back-parlor.  Poor  Carry  !  what  other  pleasure 
had  she  ? 

She  had  not  gone  through  many  pages,  or  Becky  advanced 
many  stitches  in  the  darning  of  that  table-cloth  which  the  good 
housewife,  Mrs.  Gann,  had  confided  to  her  charge,  when  an 
humble  knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  that 
caused  the  blushing  Caroline  to  tremble  and  drop  her  book,  as 
Miss  Lydia  Languish  does  in  the  play. 

Mr.  George  Brandon  entered  with  a  very  demure  air.  He 
held  in  his  hand  a  black  satin  neck-scarf,  of  which  a  part  had 
come  to  be  broken.  He  could  not  wear  it  in  its  present  con- 
dition, that  was  evident ;  but  Miss  Caroline  was  blushing  and 
trembling  a  great  deal  too  much  to  suspect  that  this  wicked 
Brandon  had  himself  torn  his  own  scarf  with  his  own  hands  one 
moment  before  he  entered  the  room.  I  don't  know  whether 
Becky  had  any  suspicions  of  this  fact,  or  whether  it  was  only 
the  ordinary  roguish  look  which  she  had  when  anything  pleased 
her,  that  now  lighted  up  her  eyes  and  caused  her  mouth  to  ex- 
pand smilingly,  and  her  fat  red  cheeks  to  gather  up  into 
wrinkles. 

"  I  have  had  a  sad  misfortune,"  said  he,  "  and  should  be 
very  much  obliged  indeed  to  Miss  Caroline  to  repair  it." 
(Caroline  was  said  with  a  kind  of  tender  hesitation  that  caused 


6o  --^  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

the  youn^';  woman,  so  named,  to  blush  more  than  ever.)  "  It  is 
the  only  stock  1  have  in  the  world,  and  J  can't  go  barenecked 
into  the  streets  ;  can  I,  Mrs.  Becky  ?  " 

"  No,  sure,"  said  Becky. 

"  Not  unless  I  was  a  celebrated  painter,  like  Mr.  Fitch," 
added  Mr.  Brandon,  with  a  smile,  which  was  reflected  speedily 
upon  the  face  of  the  lady  whom  he  wished  to  interest.  "  Those 
great  geniuses,"  he  added,  "  may  do  anything." 

"For,"  says  Becky,  "hee's  got  enough  beard  on  hees  faze 
to  keep  hees  neck  warm  !  "  At  which  remark,  though  Miss 
Caroline  very  properly  said,  "  For  shame,  Becky ! "  Mr. 
Pjrandon  was  so  convulsed  with  laughter,  that  he  fairly  fell 
down  upon  the  sofa  on  which  Miss  Caroline  was  seated.  How 
she  startled  and  trembled,  as  he  flung  his  arm  upon  the  back 
of  the  couch !  Mr.  Brandon  did  not  attempt  to  apologize  for 
what  was  an  act  of  considerable  impertinence,  but  continued 
mercilessly  to  make  many  more  jokes  concerning  poor  Fitch, 
which  were  so  cleverly  suited  to  the  comprehension  of  the  maid 
and  the  young  mistress,  as  to  elicit  a  great  number  of  roars  of 
laughter  from  the  one,  and  to  cause  the  other  to  smile  in  spite 
of  herself.  Indeed,  Brandon  had  gained  a  vast  reputation  with 
Becky  in  his  morning  colloquies  with  her,  and  she  was  ready 
to  laugh  at  any  single  word  which  it  pleased  him  to  utter.  How 
many  of  his  good  things  had  this  honest  scullion  carried  down 
stairs  to  Caroline  ?  and  how  pitilessly  had  she  contrived  to 
estropier  them  in  their  passage  from  the  drawing-room  to  the 
kitchen  ? 

Well,  then,  while  Mr.  Brandon  "was  a-going  on,"  as  Becky 
said,  Caroline  had  taken  his  stock,  and  her  little  fingers  were 
occupied  in  repairing  the  damage  he  had  done  to  it.  Was  it 
clumsiness  on  her  part  ?  Certain  it  is  that  the  rent  took  several 
minutes  to  repair  :  of  them  the  mangeur  de  cociirs  did  not  fail 
to  profit,  conversing  in  an  easy,  kindly,  confidential  way,  which 
set  our  fluttering  heroine  speedily  at  rest,  and  enabled  her  to 
reply  to  his  continual  queries,  addressed  with  much  adroitness 
and  an  air  of  fraternal  interest,  by  a  number  of  those  pretty 
little  timid  whispering  yeses  and  noes,  and  those  gentle,  quick 
looks  of  the  eyes,  wherewith  young  and  modest  maidens  are 
wont  to  reply  to  the  questions  of  seducing  young  bachelors. 
Dear  yeses  and  noes,  how  beautiful  you  are  when  gently 
whispered  by  pretty  lips  ! — glances  of  quick  innocent  eyes  how 
charming  are  you  ! — and  how  charming  the  soft  blush  that  steals 
over  the  cheek,  towards  which  the  dark  lashes  are  drawing  the 
blue-veined   eyelids   down.     And  here  let  the  writer  of   this 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  6i 

solemnly  declare,  upon  his  veracity,  that  he  means  nothing  but 
what  is  right  and  moral.  But  look,  I  pray  you,  at  an  innocent, 
bashful  girl  of  sixteen  :  if  she  be  but  good,  she  must  be  pretty. 
She  is  a  woman  now,  but  a  girl  still.  How  delightful  all  her 
ways  are  !  How  exquisite  her  instinctive  grace  !  All  the  arts 
of  all  the  Cleopatras  are  not  so  captivating  as  her  nature. 
Who  can  resist  her  confiding  simplicity,  or  fail  to  be  touched 
and  conquered  by  her  gentle  appeal  to  protection  ? 

All  this  Mr.  Pirandon  saw  and  felt,  as  many  a  gentleman 
educated  in  this  school  will.  It  is  not  because  a  man  is  a  rascal 
himself,  that  he  cannot  appreciate  virtue  and  purity  very  keen- 
ly ;  and  our  hero  did  feel  for  this  simple,  gentle,  tender,  artless 
creature,  a  real  respect  and  sympathy — a  sympathy  so  fresh 
and  delicious,  that  he  was  but  too  glad  to  yield  to  it  and  indulge 
in  it,  and  which  he  mistook,  probably,  for  a  real  love  of  virtue 
and  a  return  to  the  days  of  his  innocence. 

Indeed,  Mr.  Brandon,  it  was  no  such  thing.  It  was  only 
because  vice  and  debauch  were  stale  for  the  moment,  and  this 
pretty  virtue  new.  It  was  only  because  your  cloyed  appetite 
was  long  unused  to  this  simple  meat  that  you  felt  so  keen  a 
relish  for  it ;  and  I  thought  of  you  only  the  last  blessed  Sat- 
urday, at  Mr.  Lovegrove's,  "West  India  Tavern,"  Blackwall, 
where  a  company  of  fifteen  epicures,  who  had  scorned  the  turtle, 
pooh-poohed  the  punch,  and  sent  away  the  whitebait,  did 
suddenly  and  simultaneously  make  a  rush  upon — a  dish  of 
beans  and  bacon.  And  if  the  assiduous  reader  of  novels  will 
think  upon  some  of  the  most  celebrated  works  of  that  species, 
which  have  lately  appeared  in  this  and  other  countries,  he  will, 
find,  amidst  much  debauch  of  sentiment  and  enervating  dissipa- 
tion of  intellect,  that  the  writers  have  from  time  to  time  a  return- 
ing appetite  for  innocence  and  freshness,  and  indulge  us  with 
occasional  repasts  of  beans  and  bacon.  How  long  Mr.  Bran- 
don remained  by  Miss  Caroline's  side  I  have  no  means  of 
judging  ;  it  is  probable,  however,  that  he  stayed  a  much  longer 
time  than  was  necessary  for  the  mending  of  his  black  satin 
stock.  I  believe,  indeed,  that  he  read  to  the  ladies  a  great 
part  of  the  "  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  over  which  they  were 
engaged ;  and  interspersed  his  reading  with  many  remarks  of 
his  own,  both  tender  and  satirical.  Whether  he  was  in  her 
company  half-an-hour  or  four  hours,  this  is  certain,  that  the  time 
slipped  away  very  swiftly  with  poor  Caroline  ;  and  when  a 
carriage  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  shrill  voices  were  heard 
crj-ing,  "  Becky  !  "  "  Carry  !  "  and  Rebecca  the  maid  starting 
up,  cried,  "  Lor',  here's  missus  !  "  and  Brandon  jumped  rather 


62  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STOKY. 

suddenly  off  the  sofa,  and  fled  up  the  stairs — when  all  these 
events  took  place,  I  know  Caroline  felt  very  sad  indeed,  and 
opened  the  door  for  her  parents  with  a  very  heavy  heart. 

Swigby  helped  Miss  Linda  off  the  box  with'  excessive 
tenderness.  Papa  was  bustling  and  roaring  in  high  good- 
humor,  and  called  for  "  hot  water  and  tumblers  immediately." 
Mrs.  Gann  was  gracious  ;  and  Miss  Bell  sulky,  as  she  had  good 
reason  to  be,  for  she  insisted  upon  taking  the  front  seat  in  the 
carriage  before  her  sister,  and  had  lost  a  husband  by  that  very 
piece  of  obstinacy. 

Mr.  Fitch,  as  he  entered,  bestowed  upon  Caroline  a  heavy 
sigh  and  a  deep  stare,  and  silently  ascended  to  his  own  apart- 
ment. He  was  lost  in  thought.  The  fact  is,  he  was  trying  to 
remember  some  verses  regarding  a  violet,  which  he  had  made 
five  years  before,  and  which  he  had  somehow  lost  from  among 
his  papers.     So  he  went  up  stairs,  muttering, 

"  A  humble  flower  long  since  I  pined 
Upon  a  solitary  plain " 


CHAPTER  VI. 


DESCRIBES   A    SHABBY   GENTEEL    MARRIAGE,    AND    MORE    LOVE- 
MAKING. 

It  will  not  be  necessary  to  describe  the  particulars  of  the 
festivities  which  took  place  on  the  occasion  of  Mr.  Swigby's 
marriage  to  Miss  Macarty.  The  happy  pair  went  off  in  a  post- 
chaise  and  four  to  the  bridegroom's  country-seat,  accompanied 
by  the  bride's  blushing  sister ;  and  when  the  first  w-eek  of  their 
matrimonial  bliss  was  ended,  that  worthy  woman,  Mrs.  Gann, 
with  her  excellent  husband,  went  to  visit  the  young  couple. 
Miss  Caroline  was  left,  therefore,  sole  mistress  of  the  house, 
and  received  special  cautions  from  her  mamma  as  to  prudence, 
economy,  the  proper  management  of  the  lodgers'  bills,  and  the 
necessity  of  staying  at  home. 

Considering  that  one  of  the  gentlemen  remaining  in  the 
house  was  a  declared  lover  of  Miss  Caroline,  I  think  it  is  a 
little  surprising  that  her  mother  should  leave  her  unprotected  \ 
but  in  this  matter  the  poor  are  not  so  particular  as  the  rich  ; 
and  so  this  young  lady  was  consigned  to  the  guardianship  of 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  S'/OA'V.  6^ 

her  own  innocence,  and  the  lodgers'  loyalty  :  nor  was  there  any 
reason  why  Mrs.  Gann  should  doubt  the  latter.  As  for  Mr. 
Fitch,  he  would  have  far  preferred  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  ren 
thousand  wild  horses,  rather  than  to  offer  to  the  young  woman 
any  unkindness  or  insult;  and  how  was  Mrs.  Gann  to  suppose 
that  her  other  lodger  was  a  whit  less  loyal  ^  that  he  had  any 
partiality  for  a  person  of  whom  he  always  spoke  as  a  mean, 
insignificant  little  baby  ?  So,  without  any  misgivings,  and  in 
a  one-horse  fly  with  Mr.  Gann  by  her  side,  with  a  bran  new 
green  coat  and  gilt  buttons,  Juliana  Gann  went  forth  to  visit 
her  beloved  child,  and  console  her  in  her  married  state. 

And  here,  were  I  allowed  to  occupy  the  reader  with  ex- 
traneous matters,  I  could  give  a  very  curious  and  touching 
picture  of  the  Swigby  menage.  Mrs.  S.,  I  am  very  sorry  to 
say,  quarrelled  with  her  husband  on  the  third  day  after  their 
marriage, — and  for  what,  pr'thee  ?  Why,  because  he  would 
smoke,  and  no  gentleman  ought  to  smoke.  Swigby,  therefore, 
patiently  resigned  his  pipe,  and  with  it  one  of  the  quietest, 
happiest,  kindest  companions  of  his  solitude.  He  was  a  dif- 
ferent man  after  this  ;  his  pipe  was  as  a  limb  of  his  body. 
Having  on  Tuesday  conquered  the  pipe,  Mrs.  Swigby  on 
Thursday  did  battle  with  her  husband's  rum-and-water,  a  drink 
of  an  odious  smell,  as  she  very  properly  observed  ;  and  the 
smell  was  doubly  odious,  now  that  the  tobacco-smoke  no  longer 
perfumed  the  parlor-breeze,  and  counteracted  the  odors  of  the 
juice  of  West  India  sugar-canes.  On  Thursday,  then,  Mr.  Swigby 
and  rum  held  out  pretty  bravely.  Mrs.  S.  attacked  the  punch 
with  some  sharp-shooting,  and  fierce  charges  of  vulgarity  ;  to 
which  S.  replied,  by  opening  the  battery  of  oaths  (chiefly  directed 
to  his  own  eyes,  however),  and  loud  protestations  that  he  would 
never  surrender.  In  three  days  more,  however,  the  rum-and- 
water  was  gone.  Mr.  Swigby,  defeated  and  prostrate,  had  given 
up  that  stronghold  ;  his  young  wife  and  sister  were  triumphant  ; 
and  his  poor  mother,  who  occupied  her  son's  house,  and  had 
till  now  taken  her  place  at  the  head  of  his  table,  saw  that  her 
empire  was  for  ever  lost,  and  was  preparing  suddenly  to  suc- 
cumb to  the  imperious  claims  of  the  mistress  of  the  mansion. 

All  this,  I  say,  I  wish  I  had  the  liberty  to  describe  at  large, 
as  also  to  narrate  the  arrival  of  majestic  Mrs.  Gann  ;  and  a 
battle-royal  which  speedily  took  place  between  the  two  worthy 
mothers-in-law.  Noble  is  the  hatred  of  ladies  who  stand  in  this 
relation  to  each  other ;  each  sees  what  injurv  the  other  is  in- 
flicting upon  her  darling  child  ;  each  mistrusts,  detests,  and  to 
her  offspring  privily  abuses  the  arts  and  crimes  of  the  other. 


64  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

A  house  with  a  wife  is  often  warm  enough  ;  a  house  with  a  wife  and 
her  mother  is  rather  warmer  than  any  spot  on  the  known  globe  ; 
a  house  with  two  mothers-in-law  is  so  excessively  hot,  that  it  can 
be  likened  to  no  place  on  earth  at  all,Ji)ut  one  must  go  lower 
for  a  simile.  Think  of  a  wife  who  des^iises  her  husband,  and 
teaches  him  manners  ;  of  an  elegant  sister,  who  joins  in  rallying 
him  (this  was  almost  the  only  point  of  union  between  Bella  and 
Linda  now, — for  since  the  marriage,  Linda  hated  her  sister 
consumedly).  Think,  I  say,  of  two  mothers-in-law, — one,  large, 
pompous,  and  atrociously  genteel, — another  coarse  and  shrill, 
determined  not  to  have  her  son  put  upon, — and  you  may  see 
what  a  happy  fellow  Joe  Swigby  was,  and  into  what  a  piece  of 
good  luck  he  had  fallen. 

What  would  have  become  of  him  without  his  father-in-law? 
Indeed  one  shudders  to  think  ;  but  the  consequence  of  that 
gentleman's  arrival  and  intervention  was  sjDeedily  this  : — About 
four  o'clock,  when  the  dinner  was  removed,  and  the  quarrelling 
used  commonly  to  set  in,  the  two  gents  took  their  hats,  and 
sallied  out ;  and  as  one  has  found  when  the  body  is  inflamed 
that  the  apiDlication  of  a  stringent  medicine  may  cause  the  ill 
to  disappear  for  a  while,  only  to  return  elsewhere  with  greater 
force  ;  in  like  manner,  Mrs.  Swigby's  sudden  victory  over  the 
pipe  and  rum-and-water,  although  it  had  caused  a  temporary 
cessation  of  the  evil  of  which  she  complained,  was  quite  unable 
to  stop  it  altogether  ;  it  disappeared  from  one  spot  only  to  rage 
with  more  violence  elsewhere.  In  Swigby's  parlor,  rum  and 
tobacco  odors  rose  no  more  (except,  indeed,  when  INIrs.  Gann 
would  partake  of  the  former  as  a  restorative) ;  but  if  you  could 
have  seen  the  "  Half-Moon  and  Snuffers  "  down  the  village  ; 
if  you  could  have  seen  the  good  dry  skittle-ground  which  stretched 
at  the  back  of  that  inn,  and  the  window  of  the  back  parlor 
which  superintended  that  skittle-ground ;  if  the  hour  at  which 
you  beheld  these  objects  was  evening,  what  time  the  rustics 
from  their  toils  released,  trolled  the  stout  ball  amidst  the  rattling 
pins  (the  oaken  pins  that  standing  in  the  sun  did  cast  long 
shadows  on  the  golden  sward)  ;  if  you  had  remarked  all  this,  I 
say,  you  would  have  also  seen  in  the  back  parlor  a  tallow  candle 
twinkling  in  the  shade,  and  standing  on  a  little  greasy  table. 
Upon  the  greasy  table  was  a  pewter  porter-pot,  and  to  the  left 
a  teaspoon  glittering  in  a  glass  of  gin  ;  close  to  each  of  these 
two  delicacies  was  a  pipe  of  tobacco ;  and  behind  the  pipes  sat 
Mr.  Gann  and  Swigby,  who  now  made  the  "  Half-Moon  and 
Snuffers  "  their  usual  place  of  resort,  and  forgot  their  married 
cares. 


A  S//ABb\    GEXTEEL  STORY.  65 

In  spite  of  all  our  promises  of  brevity,  these  things  have 
taken  some  space  to  describe  ;  and  the  reader  must  also  know 
that  some  short  interval  elapsed  ere  they  occurred.  A  month  at 
least  passed  away  before  Mr.  Swigby  had  decidedly  taken  up  his 
position  at  the  little  inn :  all  this  time,  Gann  was  staying  with 
his  son-in-law,  at  the  latter's  most  earnest  request ;  and  Mrs. 
Gann  remained  under  the  same  roof  at  her  own  desire.  Not 
the  hints  of  her  daughter,  nor  the  broad  questions  of  the  dow- 
ager Mrs.  Swigby,  could  induce  honest  Mrs.  Gann  to  stir  from 
her  quarters.  Slie  had  had  her  lodgers'  money  in  advance,  as 
was  the  worthy  woman's  custom  ;  she  knew  Margate  in  April 
was  dreadfully  dull,  and  she  determined  to  enjoy  the  country 
until  the  jovial  town  season  arrived.  The  Canterbury  coach- 
man, whom  Gann  knew,  and  who  passed  through  the  village, 
used  to  take  her  cargo  of  novels  to  and  fro ;  and  the  old  lady 
made  herself  as  happy  as  circumstances  would  allow.  Should 
anything  of  importance  occur  during  her  mamma's  absence, 
Caroline  was  to  make  use  of  the  same  conveyance,  and  inform 
Mrs.  Gann  in  a  letter. 

Miss  Caroline  looked  at  her  papa  and  mamma,  as  the  ve- 
hicle which  was  to  bear  them  to  the  newly-married  couple  moved 
up  the  street ;  but,  strange  to  say,  she  did  not  feel  that  heavi- 
ness of  heart  which  she  before  had  experienced  when  forbidden 
to  share  the  festivities  of  her  family,  but  was  on  this  occasion 
more  happy  than  any  one  of  them, — so  happy  that  the  young 
woman  felt  quite  ashamed  of  herself  ;  and  Becky  was  fain  to 
remark  how  her  mistress's  cheek  flushed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
(^and  turned  perpetually  to  the  door),  and  her  whole  little  frame 
was  in  a  flutter. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  will  come,""  said  the  little  heart ;  and  the 
eyes  turned  and  looked  at  that  well-known  sofa-corner,  where 
he  had  been  placed  a  fortnight  before.  He  looked  exactly  like 
Lord  Byron,  that  he  did,  with  his  pale  brow,  and  his  slim  bare 
neck ;  only  not  half  so  wicked — no,  no.     She  was  sure  that 

her — her  Mr.  B. ,  her   Bran ,  her  George^  was   as  good 

as  he  was  beautiful.  Don't  let  us  be  angry  with  her  for  calling 
him  George :  the  girl  was  bred  in  an  humble  sentimental 
school ;  she  did  not  know  enough  of  society  to  be  squeamish  ; 
she  never  thought  that  she  could  be  his  really,  and  gave  way 
in  the  silence  of  her  fancy  to  the  full  extent  of  her  affection 
for  him. 

She  had  not  looked  at  the  door  above  twenty-five  times — 
that  is  to  say,  her  parents  had  not  quitted  the  house  ten  min- 
utes— when,  sure  enough,  the  latch  did  rattle,  the  door  opened, 


66  A  SIIABHY  GKA-PEKL  STORY. 

and,  with  a  faint  blush  on  his  cheek,  divine  George  entered. 
He  was  going  to  make  some  excuse,  as  on  the  former  occasion  ; 
but  he  looked  first  into  Caroline's  face,  which  was  beaming 
with  joy  and  smiles  ;  and  the  little  thing,  in  return,  regarded 
him,  and — made  room  for  him  on  the  sofa.  (3  sweet  instinct 
of  love  !  Brandon  had  no  need  of  excuses,  but  sate  down,  and 
talked  away  as  easily,  happil}^,  and  confidentially,  and  neither 
took  any  note  of  time.  Andrea  Fitch  (the  sly  dog  ! )  witnessed 
the  Gann  departure  with  feelings  of  exultation,  and  had  laid 
some  deep  plans  of  his  own  with  regard  to  Miss  Caroline.  So 
strong  was  his  confidence  in  his  friend  on  the  first  floor,  that 
Andrea  actually  descended  to  those  apartments,  on  his  way  to 
Mrs.  Gann's  parlor,  in  order  to  consult  Mr.  Brandon,  and  make 
known  to  him  his  plan  of  operations. 

It  w^ould  have  made  your  heart  break,  or,  at  the  very  least, 
your  sides  ache,  to  behold  the  countenance  of  poor  Mr.  Fitch,  as 
he  thrust  his  bearded  head  in  at  the  door  of  the  parlor.  There 
was  Brandon  lolling  on  the  sofa,  at  his  ease  ;  Becky  in  full 
good  humor  ;  and  Caroline,  always  absurdly  inclined  to  blush, 
blushing  at  Fitch's  appearance  more  than  ever  !  She  could 
not  help  looking  from  him  slyly  and  gently  into  the  face  of  Mr. 
Brandon.  That  gentleman  saw  the  look,  and  did  not  fail  to 
interpret  it.  It  was  a  confession  of  love — an  appeal  for  pro- 
tection. A  thrill  of  delightful  vanity  shot  through  Brandon's 
frame,  and  made  his  heart  throb,  as  he  noticed  this  look  of 
poor  Caroline.  He  answered  it  with  one  of  his  own  that  was 
cruelly  wrong,  cruelly  triumphant,  and  sarcastic  ;  and  he  shouted 
out  to  Mr.  Fitch,  with  a  loud,  disconcerted  tone,  which  only 
made  that  young  painter  feel  more  awkward  than  ever  he  had 
been.  Fitch  made  some  clumsy  speech  regarding  his  dinner, 
— whether  that  meal  was  to  be  held,  in  the  absence  of  the 
parents,  at  the  usual  hour,  and  then  took  his  leave. 

The  poor  fellow  had  been  pleasing  himself  with  the  notion 
of  taking  this  daily  meal  tde-a-tcte  with  Caroline.  What  pro- 
gress would  he  make  in  her  heart  during  the  absence  of  her 
parents  !  Did  it  not  seem  as  if  the  first  marriage  had  been 
arranged  on  purpose  to  facilitate  his  own  ?  He  determined 
thus  his  plan  of  campaign.  He  would  make,  in  the  first  place, 
the  most  beautiful  drawing  of  Caroline  that  ever  was  seen. 
"The  conversations  FU  'ave  with  lier  during  the  sittings,"  says 
he,  "  will  carry  me  a  pretty  long  way ;  the  drawing  itself  will 
be  so  beautiful,  that  she  can't  resist  that.  Fll  write  lier  verses 
in  her  halbum,  and  make  designs  hallusi\e  of  my  pas'-ion  for 
her."     And  so  our  pictorial  Alnaschar  dreamed  and  dreamed. 


A  SHABBY  GEXTREL  STORY.  67 

He  had,  ere  long,  established  himself  in  a  house  in  Newman 
Street,  with  a  footman  to  open  the  door.  Caroline  was  up 
stairs,  his  wife,  and  her  picture  the  crack  portrait  of  the  Ex- 
hibition. Witli  her  by  his  side,  Andrea  Fitch  felt  he  could  do 
anything.  Half-a-dozen  carriages  at  his  door,  — a  hundred 
guineas  for  a  Kit-Cat  portrait.  Lady  Fitch,  Sir  Andrew  Fitch, 
the  President's  chain, — all  sorts  of  bright  visions  floated  before 
his  imagination  ;  and  as  Caroline  was  the  first  precious  condi- 
tion of  his  preferment,  he  determined  forthwith  to  begin,  and 
realize  that. 

But  O  disappointment  !  on  coming  down  to  dinner  at  three 
o'clock  to  that  charming  tete-h-ietc,  he  found  no  less  than  four 
covers  laid  on  the  table,  Miss  Caroline  blushing  (according  to 
custom)  at  the  head  of  it ;  Becky,  the  maid,  grinning  at  the 
foot ;  and  Mr.  Brandon  sitting  quietly  on  one  side,  as  much  at 
home,  forsooth,  as  if  he  had  held  that  position  for  a  year. 

The  fact  is,  that  the  moment  after  Fitch  retired,  Brandon, 
inspired  by  jealousy,  had  made  the  same  request  which  had 
been  brought  forward  by  the  painter ;  nor  must  the  ladies  be 
too  angry  with  Caroline,  if,  after  some  scruples  and  struggles, 
she  yielded  to  the  proposal.  Remember  that  the  girl  was  the 
daughter  of  a  boarding-house,  accustomed  to  continual  dealings 
with  her  mamma's  lodgers,  and  up  to  the  present  moment 
thinking  herself  as  safe  among  them  as  the  young  person  who 
walked  through  Ireland  with  a  bright  gold  wand,  in  the  song 
of  Mr.  Thomas  Moore.  On  the  point,  however,  of  Brandon's 
admission,  it  must  be  confessed,  for  Caroline's  honor,  that  she 
did  hesitate.  She  felt  that  she  entertained  very  different  feel- 
ings towards  him  to  those  with  which  any  other  lodger  or  man 
had  inspired  her,  and  made  a  little  movement  of  resistance  at 
first.  But  the  poor  girl's  modesty  overcame  this,  as  well  as 
her  wish.  Ought  she  to  avoid  him  1  Ought  she  not  to  stifle 
any  preference  which  she  might  feel  towards  him,  and  act 
towards  him  with  the  same  indifference  which  she  would  show 
to  any  other  person  in  a  like  situation  ?  Was  not  Mr.  Fitch  to 
dine  at  table  as  usual,  and  had  she  refused  him  ?  So  reasoned 
she  in  her  heart.  Silly  little  cunning  heart !  it  knew  that  all 
these  reasons  were  lies,  and  that  she  should  avoid  the  man  ; 
but  she  was  willing  to  accept  of  any  pretext  for  meeting,  and 
so  made  a  kind  of  compromise  wilh  her  conscience.  Dine  he 
should  ;  but  Becky  should  dine  too,  and  be  a  protector  to  her. 
Becky  laughed  loudly  at  the  idea  of  (his,  and  took  her  place 
with  huge  delight. 

It  is  needless  to  say  a  wortl  about  this  dinner,  as  we  have 


68  '4  SHABBY  GE.VTEEL  STORY. 

already  described  a  former  meal ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  the 
presence  of  Brandon  caused  the  painter  to  be  excessively  sulky 
and  uncomfortable ;  and  so  gave  his  rival,  who  was  gay, 
triumphant,  and  at  his  ease,  a  decided  advantage  over  him. 
Nor  did  Ikandon  neglect  to  use  this  to  the  utmost.  When 
Fitch  retired  to  his  own  apartments — not  jealous  as  yet,  for 
the  simple  fellow  believed  every  word  of  Brandon's  morning 
conversation  with  him — but  vaguely  annoyed  and  disappointed, 
Brandon  assailed  him  with  all  the  force  of  ridicule ;  at  all  his 
manners,  words,  looks,  he  joked  mercilessly  ;  laughed  at  his 
low  birth,  (Miss  Gann,  be  it  remembered,  had  been  taught  to 
pique  herself  upon  her  own  family,)  and  invented  a  series  of 
stories  concerning  his  past  life  which  made  the  ladies — for 
Becky,  being  in  the  parlor,  must  be  considered  as  such — con- 
ceive the  greatest  contempt  and  pity  for  the  poor  painter. 

After  this,  Mr.  Brandon  would  expatiate  with  much  elo- 
quence upon  his  own  superior  attractions  and  qualities.  He 
talked  of  his  cousin,  Lord  So-and-so,  with  the  easiest  air 
imaginable  ;  told  Caroline  what  princesses  he  had  danced  with 
at  foreign  courts  ;  frightened  her  with  accounts  of  dreadful 
duels  he  had  fought ;  in  a  word,  "  posed  "  before  her  as  a  hero 
of  the  most  sublime  kind.  How  the  poor  little  thing  drank  in 
all  his  tales  ;  and  how  she  and  Becky  (for  they  now  occujDied 
the  same  bedroom)  talked  over  them  at  night  ! 

Miss  Caroline,  as  Mr.  Fitch  has  already  stated,  had  in  her 
possession,  like  almost  every  young  lady  in  England,  a  little 
square  book  called  an  album,  containing  prints  from  annuals  ; 
hideous  designs  of  flowers  ;  old  pictures  of  faded  fashions,  cut 
out  and  pasted  into  the  leaves  ;  and  small  scraps  of  verses 
selected  from  Byron,  Landon,  or  Mrs.  Hemans  ;  and  written 
out  in  the  girlish  hand  of  the  owner  of  the  book.  Brandon 
looked  over  this  work  with  a  good  deal  of  curiosity — for  he 
contended,  always,  that  a  girl's  disposition  might  be  learned 
from  the  character  of  this  museum  of  hers — and  found  here 
several  sketches  by  Mr.  Fitch,  for  which,  before  that  gentleman 
had  declared  his  passion  for  her,  Caroline  had  begged.  These 
sketches  the  sentimental  painter  had  illustrated  with  poetry, 
which,  1  must  confess,  Caroline  thought  charming,  until  now, 
when  Mr.  Brandon  took  occasion  to  point  out  how  wretchedly 
poor  the  verses  were  (as  indeed  was  the  fact),  and  to  parody 
them  all.  He  was  not  unskilful  at  this  kind  of  exercise,  and 
at  the  drawing  of  caricatures,  and  had  soon  made  a  dozen  of 
both  parodies  and  drawings,  which  reHected  cruelly  upon  the 
person  and  the  talents  of  the  painter. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  69 

What  now  did  this  wicked  Mr.  Brandon  do?  lie,  in  the 
first  place,  drew  a  caricature  of  Fitch  ;  and,  secondly,  having 
gone  to  a  gardener's  near  the  town,  and  purchased  there  a 
bunch  of  violets,  he  presented  them  to  Miss  Caroline,  and 
wrote  Mr.  Fitch's  own  verses  before  given  into  her  album.  He 
signed  them  with  his  own  initials,  and  thus  declared  open  war 
with  the  painter. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHICH    BRINGS   A   GREAT   NUMBER   OF    PEOPLE   TO    MARGATE    BY 
THE    STEAMBOAT. 

The  events  which  this  history  records  began  in  the  month 
of  February.  Times  had  now  passed,  and  April  had  arrived, 
and  with  it  that  festive  season  so  loved  by  schoolboys,  and 
called  the  Easter  holidays.  Not  only  schoolboys,  but  men, 
profit  by  this  period  of  leisure, — such  men,  especially  as  have 
just  come  into  enjoyment  of  their  own  cups  and  saucers,  and 
are  in  daily  expectation  of  their  whiskers — college  men,  I  mean, 
— who  are  persons  more  anxious  than  any  others  to  designate 
themselves  and  each  other  by  the  manly  title. 

Among  other  men,  then,  my  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars,  of 
Christ  Church,  Oxon,  received  a  sum  of  money  to  pay  his 
quarter's  bill,  and  having  written  to  his  papa  that  he  was  busily 
engaged  in  reading  for  the  "  little-go,"  and  must,  therefore, 
decline  the  delight  he  had  promised  himself  of  passing  the 
vacation  at  Cinqbars  Hall, — and  having,  the  day  after  his  letter 
was  despatched,  driven  to  town  tandem  with  young  Tom 
Tufthunt,  of  the  same  university, — and  having  exhausted  the 
pleasures  of  the  metropolis — the  theatres,  the  Cider-cellars,  the 
Finish,  the  station-houses,  and  other  places  which  need  by  no 
means  be  here  particularized, — Lord  Cinqbars,  I  say,  growing 
tired  of  London  at  the  end  of  ten  days,  quitted  the  metropolis 
somewhat  suddenly  :  nor  did  he  pay  his  hotel  bill  at  Long's 
before  his  departure  ;  but  he  left  that  document  in  possession 
of  the  landlord,  as  a  token  of  his  (my  Lord  Cinqbars')  con- 
fidence in  his  host. 

Tom  Tufthunt  went  with  my  lord,  of  course  (although  of  an 
aristocratic  turn  in  politics,  Tom  loved  and  respected  a  lord  as 


76 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


much  as  any  democrat  in  England).  And  whither  do  you  think 
this  worthy  pair  of  young  gentlemen  were  bound  ?  To  no  less 
a  place  than  Margate  ;  for  Cinqbars  was  filled  with  a  longing 
to  go  and  see  his  old  friend  Brandon,  and  determined,  to  use 
his  own  elegant  words,  "  to  knock  the  old  buck  up." 

There  was  no  adventure  of  consequence  on  board  the 
steamer  which  brought  Lord  Cinqbars  and  his  friend  from 
London  to  Margate,  and  very  few  passengers  besides.  A 
wandering  Jew  or  two  were  set  down  at  Gravesend  ;  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Wackerbart,  and  six  unhappy  little  pupils  whom  the 
reverend  gentleman  had  pounced  upon  in  London,  and  was 
carrying  back  to  his  academy  near  Heme  Bay  ;  some  of  those 
inevitable  persons  of  dubious  rank  who  seem  to  have  free 
tickets,  and  always  eat  and  drink  hugely  with  the  captain ;  and 
a  lady  and  her  party,  formed  the  whole  list  of  passengers. 

The  lady — a  very  fat  lady — had  evidenly  just  returned  from 
abroad.  Her  great  green  travelling-chariot  was  on  the  deck, 
and  on  all  her  imperials  were  pasted  fresh  large  bills,  with  the 
words  Ince's  British  Hotel,  Boulogne-sur-I\Ier  ;  for  it  is  the 
custom  of  that  worthy  gentleman  to  seize  upon  and  plaster  all 
the  luggage  of  his  guests  with  tickets,  on  which  his  name  and 
residence  are  inscribed,  —  by  which  simple  means  he  keeps 
himself  perpetually  in  their  recollection,  and  brings  himself  to 
the  notice  of  all  other  persons  who  are  in  the  habit  of  peering 
at  their  fellow-passengers'  trunks,  to  find  out  their  names.  I 
need  not  say  what  a  large  class  this  is. 

Well ;  this  fat  lady  had  a  courier,  a  tall  whiskered  man,  who 
spoke  all  languages,  looked  like  a  field-marshal,  went  by  the 
name  of  Donnerwetter,  and  rode  on  the  box ;  a  French  maid, 
Mademoiselle  Augustine ;  and  a  little  black  page,  called 
Saladin,  who  rode  in  the  rumble.  Saladin's  whole  business 
was  to  attend  a  wheezy,  fat,  white  poodle,  who  usually  travelled 
inside  with  his  mistress  and  her  fair  compagnon  de  voyage,  whose 
name  was  Miss  Runt.  This  fat  lady  was  evidently  a  person  of 
distinction.  During  the  first  part  of  the  voyage,  on  a  windy, 
sunshiny  April  day,  she  paced  the  deck  stoutly,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  poor  little  Miss  Runt  ;  and  after  they  had  passed 
Gravesend,  when  the  vessel  began  to  pitch  a  good  deal,  retired 
to  her  citadel,  the  travelling-chariot,  to  and  from  which  the 
steward,  the  stewardess,  and  the  whiskered  courier  were  con- 
tinually running  with  supplies — of  sandwiches  first,  and  after- 
wards of  very  liot  brandy-and-water  :  for  the  truth  must  be  told, 
it  was  rather  a  rough  afternoon,  and  the  poodle  was  sick  ; 
Saladin  was  as  bad  ;  the  French  maid,  like  all  French  maids, 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


71 


was  outrageously  ill  ;  the  lady  herself  was  very  unwell  indeed ; 
and  poor  dear  sympathizing  Runt  was  qualmish. 

"  Ah,  Runt  !  "  would  the  fat  lady  say  in  the  intervals,  "  what 
a  thing  this  malady  de  mare  is  !  Oh,  mong  jew  !     Oh — oh  !  " 

"  It  is,  indeed,  dear  madam,"  said  Runt,  and  went  "  Oh — 
oh! "  in  chorus. 

"  Ask  the  steward  if  we  are  near  Margate,  Runt."  And 
Runt  did,  and  asked  this  question  every  five  minutes,  as 
people  do  on  these  occasions. 

"  Issy  Monsieur  Donnerwetter  ;  ally  dimandy  ung  pew  d'n 
sho  poor  mwaw." 

"  Et  de  Teau  de  fie  afec,  n'est-ce-bas,  Matame  }  "  said  Mr. 
Donnerwetter. 

"  Wee,  wee,  comme  vous  vouly." 

And  Donnerwetter  knew  very  well  what  "  comme  vous 
vouly  "  meant,  and  brought  the  liquor  exactly  in  the  wished-for 
state. 

*'  Ah,  Runt,  Runt !  there's  something  even  worse  than  sea- 
sickness.    Heigh-ho  !  " 

"  Dear,  dear  Marianne,  don't  flutter  yourself,"  cries  Runt, 
squeezing  a  fat  paw  of  her  friend  and  patroness  between  her 
own  bony  lingers.  "  Don't  agitate  your  nerves,  dear.  I  know 
you're  miserable  ;  but  haven't  you  got  a  friend  in  your  faithful 
Runty .?  " 

"  You're  a  good  Greater,  that  you  are,"  said  the  fat  lady, 
who  seemed  herself  to  be  a  good-humored  old  soul ;  "  and  I 
don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  you.     Heigh-ho  ! '' 

"  Cheer  up,  dear  !  you'll  be  happier  when  you  get  to  Mar- 
gate :  you  know  you  will,"  cried  Runt,  very  knowingly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  You  know  very  well,  dear  Marianne.  I  mean  that  there's 
some  one  there  will  make  you  happy  •  though  he's  a  nasty 
wretch,  that  he  is,  to  hive  treated  my  darling,  beautiful  Mari- 
anne so." 

"  Runt,  Runt,  don't  abuse  that  best  of  men.  Don't  call  me 
beautiful — I'm  not.  Runt ;  I  have  been,  but  I  ain't  now  ;  and 
oh  !  no  woman  in  the  world  is  assy  bong  poor  lui." 

"  But  an  angel  is  ;  and  you  are,  as  you  always  was,  an 
angel, — as  good  as  an  angel,  as  kind  as  an  angel,  as  beautiful 
as  one." 

"  Ally  dong,"  said  her  companion,  giving  her  a  push  ;  "  you 
flatter  me.  Runt,  you  know  you  do." 

"  May  I  be  struck  down  dead  if  I  don't  say  the  truth  ;  and 
if  he  refuses  you,  as  he  did  at  Rome, — that  is,  after  all  his  in- 


72  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

tenlions  and  vows,  he's  faithless  to  you, — I  say  he's  a  wretch, 
that  he  is  ;  and  I  ivill  say  he's  a  wretch,  and  he  is  a  wretch — a 
nasty,  wicked  wretch  !  " 

"  Elizabeth,  if  you  say  that,  you'll  break  my  heart,  you  will ! 
Vous  casserez  mong  pover  cure."  Hut  Elizabeth  swore,  on 
the  contrary,  that  she  would  die  for  her  Marianne,  which  con- 
soled the  fat  lady  a  little. 

A  great  deal  more  of  this  kind  of  conversation  took  place 
during  the  voyage ;  but  as  it  occurred  inside  a  carriage,  so  that 
to  hear  it  was  very  difficult,  and  as  jx^ssibly  it  was  not  of  that 
edifying  nature  which  would  induce  the  reader  to  relish  many 
chaptiers  of  it,  we  shall  give  no  further  account  of  the  ladies' 
talk  :  suffice  it  to  say,  that  about  half-past  four  o'clock  the 
journey  ended,  by  the  vessel  bringing  up  at  Margate  Pier. 
The  passengers  poured  forth,  and  hied  to  their  respective 
homes  or  inns.  My  lord  Cinqbars  and  his  companion  (of  whom 
we  have  said  nothing,  as  they  on  their  sides  had  scarcely  spoken 
a  word  the  whole  way,  except  "  deuce-ace,"  "  quater-tray," 
"sizes,"  and  so  on, — being  occupied  ceaselessly  in  drinking 
bottled  stout  and  playing  backgammon,)  ordered  their  luggage 
tobe  conveyed  to  "Wright's  Hotel,"  whither  the  fat  ladv  and 
suite  followed  them.  The  house  was  vacant,  and  the'  best 
rooms  in  it  were  placed,  of  course,  at  the  service  of  the  new- 
comers. _  The  fat  lady  sailed  out  of  her  bedroom  towards  her 
saloon,  just  as  Lord  Cinqbars,  cigar  in  mouth,  was  swaggering 
out  of  his  parlor.  They  met  in  the  passage  ;  when,  to  the 
young  lord's  surprise,  the  fat  lady  dropped  him  a  low  curtsey, 
and  said, — 

"  Munseer  le  Vecomte  de  Cinqbars,  sharmy  de  vous  voir. 
Vous  vous  rappelez  de  mwaw,  n'est-ce  pas  ?  Je  vous  ai  vew  \ 
Rome — shay  I'ambassadure,  vous  savy." 

Lord  Cinqbars  stared  her  in  the  face,  and  pushed  by  her 
without  a  word,  leaving  the  fat  lady  rather  disconcerted. 

"  Well,  Runt,  I'm  sure,"  said  she,  "  he  need  not  be  so  proud  ; 
I've  met  him  twenty  times  at  Rome,  when  he  was  a  young  chap 
with  his  tutor." 

"  Who  the  devil  can  that  fat  foreigner  be  .?  "  mused  Lord 
Cinqbars.  "  Hang  her,  I've  seen  her  somewhere  ;  but  I'm 
cursed  if  I  understand  a  word  of  her  jabber."  And  so,  dis- 
missing the  subject,  he  walked  on  to  Brandon's. 

"  Dang  it,  it's  a  strange  thing  !  "  says  the  landlord  of  the 
hotel  ;  "  but  both  my  lord  and  the  fat  woman  in  number  nine 
have  asked  tlieir  way  to  Mother  Gann's  lodging,"  for  so  did 
he  dare  to  call  that  respectable  woman  I 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


73 


It  was  true  :  as  soon  as  number  nine  liad  eaten  her  dinner, 
she  asked  the  question  mentioned  by  the  landlord  ;  and,  as 
this  meal  occupied  a  considerable  time,  the  shades  of  evening 
had  by  this  time  fallen  upon  the  quiet  city  ;  the  silver  moon 
lighted  up  the  bay,  and,  supported  by  a  numerous  and  well- 
appointed  train  of  gas-lamps,  illuminated  the  streets  of  a  town, 
— of  autumn  eves  so  crowded  and  so  gay;  of  gusty  April 
nights,  so  desolate.  At  this  still  hour  (it  might  be  half-past 
seven)  two  ladies  passed  the  gates  of  "Wright's  Hotel,"  "in 
shrouding  mantle  wrapped,  and  velvet  cap."  Up  the  deserted 
High  Street  toiled  they,  by  gaping  rows  of  empty  bathing-houses, 
by  melancholy  Jolly's  French  bazaar,  by  mouldy  pastrycooks, 
blank  reading-rooms,  by  fishmongers  who  never  sold  a  fish, 
mercers  who  vended  not  a  yard  of  ribbon — because,  as  yet,  the 
season  was  not  come, — and  Jews  and  Cockneys  still  remained 
in  town.  At  High  Street's  corner,  near  to  Hawley  Square,  they 
passed  the  house  of  Mr.  Fincham,  chemist,  who  doth  not  only 
healthful  drugs  supply,  but  likewise  sells  cigars — the  worst 
cigars  that  ever  mortal  man  gave  threepence  for. 

Up  to  this  point,  I  say,  I  have  had  a  right  to  accompany 
the  fat  lady  and  Miss  Runt ;  but  whether,  on  arriving  at  Mr, 
Fincham's,  they  turned  to  the  left,  in  the  direction  of  the 
"  Royal  Hotel,"  or  to  the  right,  by  the  beach,,  the  bathing- 
machines,  and  queer  rickety  old  row  of  houses,  called  Buenos 
Ayres,  no  power  on  earth  shall  induce  me  to  say  ;  suffice  it, 
they  went  to  Mrs.  Gann's.  Why  should  we  set  all  the  world 
gadding  to  a  particular  street,  to  know  where  that  lady  lives  ? 
They  arrived  before  that  lady's  house  at  about  eight  o'clock. 
Every  house  in  the  street  had  bills  on  it  except  hers  (bitter 
mockery,  as  if  anybody  came  down  at  Easter  !)  and  at  Mrs. 
Gann's  house  there  was  a  light  in  the  garret,  and  another  in 
the  two-pair  front.  I  believe  I  have  not  mentioned  before, 
that  all  the  front  windows  were  bow  or  bay-windows  ;  but  so 
much  the  reader  may  know. 

The  two  ladies,  who  had  walked  so  far,  examined  wistfully 
the  plate  on  the  door,  stood  on  the  steps  for  a  short  time,  re- 
treated, and  conversed  with  one  another. 

"  Oh,  Runty  !  "  said  the  stouter  of  the  two,  "  he's  here — I 
know  he's  here,  mong  cure  le  dee — my  heart  tells  me  so." 
And  she  put  a  large  hand  upon  a  place  on  her  left  side,  where 
there  once  had  been  a  waist. 

"  Do  you  think  he  looks  front  or  back,  dear?"  asked  Runt. 
"  P'raps  he's  not  at  home." 

"That — that's  his  croisy,"  said  the  stout  person;  "  i  know 


74 


J  SHABBY  GKN'J-KEL  STUKY. 


il  is ;  "  and  she  pointed  with  instinctive  justice  to  the  two-pair. 
"  Ecouty  !  "  she  added,  "he's  coming;  there's  some  one  at 
that  window.  Oh,  mong  jew,  mong  jew!  c'est  Andre,  c'est 
lui ! " 

The  moon  was  shining  full  on  the  face  of  the  bow-windows 
of  Mrs.  Gann's  house;  and  the  two  fair  spies,  who  were  watch- 
ing on  the  other  side,  were,  in  consequence,  completely  in 
shadow.  As  the  lady  said,  a  dark  form  was  seen  in  the  two- 
pair  front ;  it  paced  the  room  for  a  while,  for  no  blinds  were 
drawn.  It  then  flung  itself  on  a  chair  ;  its  head  on  its  hands  ; 
it  then  began  to  beat  its  brows  wildly,  and  paced  the  room 
again.  Ah  !  how  the  fat  lady's  heart  throbbed  as  she  looked 
at  all  this ! 

She  gave  a  piercing  shriek  —  almost  fainted !  and  little 
Runt's  knee's  trembled  under  her,  as  with  all  her  might  she 
supported,  or  rather  pushed  up,  the  falling  figure  of  her  stout 
patroness, — who  saw  at  that  instant  Fitch  come  to  the  candle 
with  an  immense  pistol  in  his  hand,  and  give  a  most  horrible 
grin  as  he  looked  at  it,  and  clasped  it  to  his  breast. 

"  Unhand  me,  Runt  ;  he's  going  to  kill  himself!  It's  for 
me  !  I  know  it  is — I  will  go  to  him  !  Andrea,  my  Andrea  1  " 
And  the  fat  lady  was  pushing  for  the  opposite  side  of  the  way, 
when  suddenly  the  second-floor  window  went  clattering  up,  and 
Fitch's  pale  head  was  thrust  out. 

He  had  heard  a  scream,  and  had  possibly  been  induced  to 
open  the  window  in  consequence  ;  but  by  the  time  he  had 
opened  it  he  had  forgotten  everything,  and  put  his  head  va- 
cantly out  of  the  window,  and  gazed,  the  moon  shining  cold  on 
his  pale  features. 

"  Pallid  horb !  "  said  Fitch,  "  shall  I  ever  see  thy  light 
again  ?  Will  another  night  see  me  on  this  hearth,  or  view  me, 
stark  and  cold,  a  lifeless  corpse  ?  He  took  his  pistol  up,  and 
slowly  aimed  it  at  a  chimney-pot  opposite.  Fancy  the  fat 
lady's  sensations,  as  she  beheld  her  lover  standing  in  the 
moonlight,  and  exercising  this  deadly  weapon. 

"  Make  ready — present — fire  !  "  shouted  Fitch,  and  did  in- 
stantaneously, not  fire  off,  but  lower  his  weapon.  "  The  bolt  of 
death  is  sped  !  "  continued  he,  clapping  his  hand  on  his  side. 
"The  poor  painter's  life  is  over!  Caroline,  Caroline,  I  die  for 
thee!" 

"  Runt,  Runt,  I  told  you  so  !  "  shrieked  the  fat  lady.  "  He 
is  dying  for  ine,  and  Caroline's  my  second  name." 

What  the  fat  lady  would  ha\e  done  more,  I  can't  say  ;  for 
Fiich,  disturbed  out  of  his  reverie  by  her  talking  below,  looked 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STONY. 


75 


out,  frowning  vacantly,  and  saying,  "  LJlloh  !  we've  hinterlopers 
'ere  ! "  suddenly  banged  down  the  window,  and  pulled  down  the 
blinds. 

This  gave  a  check  to  the  fat  lady's  projected  rush,  and  dis- 
concerted her  a  little.  But  she  was  consoled  by  Miss  Runt, 
promised  to  return  on  the  morrow,  and  went  home  happy  in 
the  idea  that  her  Andrea  was  faithful  to  her. 

Alas,  poor  fat  lady  !  little  did  you  know  the  truth.  It  was 
Caroline  Gann  Fitch  was  raving  about ;  and  it  was  a  part  of 
his  last  letter  to  her,  to  be  delivered  after  his  death,  that  he 
was  spouting  out  of  the  window. 

Was  the  crazy  painter  going  to  fight  a  duel,  or  was  he  going 
to  kill  himself  ?    This  will  be  explained  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


WHICH     TREATS    OF     WAR    AND    LOVE,    AND     MANY    THINGS    THAT 
ARE    NOT   TO    BE    UNDERSTOOD    IN    CHAP.    VII. 

Fitch's  verses,  inserted  in  a  previous  chapter  of  this  story, 
(and  of  which  lines,  by  the  way,  the  printer  managed  to  make 
still  greater  nonsense  than  the  ingenious  bard  ever  designed,) 
had  been  composed  many  years  before ;  and  it  was  with  no 
small  trouble  and  thought  that  the  young  painter  called  the 
greater  part  of  them  to  memory  again,  and  furbished  up  a  copy 
for  Caroline's  album.  Unlike  the  love  of  most  men,  Andrea's 
passion  was  not  characterized  by  jealousy  and  watchfulness, 
otherwise  he  would  not  have  failed  to  perceive  certain  tokens 
of  intelligence  passing  from  time  to  time  between  Caroline  and 
Brandon,  and  the  lady's  evident  coldness  to  himself.  The  fact 
is,  the  painter  was  in  love  with  being  in  love, — entirely  absorbed 
in  the  consideration  of  the  fact  that  he,  Andrea  Fitch,  was  at 
last  enamored ;  and  he  did  not  mind  his  mistress  much  more 
than  Don  Quixote  did  Dulcinea  del  Toboso. 

Having  rubbed  up  his  verses,  then,  and  designed  a  pretty 
emblematical  outline  which  was  to  surround  them,  representing 
an  arabesque  of  violets,  dewdrops,  fairies,  and  other  objects,  he 
came  down  one  morning,  drawing  in  hand  ;  and  having  informed 
Caroline,  who  was  sitting  very  melancholy  in  the  parlor,  pre- 
occupied, with  a  pale  face  and  red  eyes,  and  not  caring  twopence 


76  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

for  the  fincsl  drawing  in  the  world, — having  informed  her  that 
he  was  going  to  make  in  her  halbum  a  humble  hoffering  of  his 
hart,  poor  Fitch  was  just  on  the  point  of  sticking  in  the  draw- 
ing with  gum,  as  painters  know  very  well  how  to  do,  when  his 
eye  lighted  upon  a  page  of  the  album,  in  which  nestled  a  few 
dried  violets  and — his  own  verses,  signed  with  the  name  of 
George  Brandon. 

"  Miss  Caroline — Miss  Gann,  mam  ! ''  shrieked  Fitch,  in  a 
tone  of  voice  which  made  the  young  lady  start  out  of  a  profound 
reverie,  and  cry,  nervously, — "  What  in  heaven  is  the  matter  ? "' 

"These  verses,  madam — a  faded  violet — word  for  word, 
gracious  'eavens  !  every  word  !  "  roared  Fitch,  advancing  with 
the  book. 

She  looked  at  him  rather  vacantly,  and  as  the  violets  caught 
her  eye,  put  out  her  hand,  and  took  them,  "  Do  you  know  the 
hawthor,  Miss  Gann,  of  'The  faded  Violets  ? '  " 

"Author.?  O  yes;  they  are — they  are  George's!"  She 
burst  into  tears  as  she  said  that  word  ;  and,  pulling  the  little 
faded  flowers  to  pieces,  went  sobbing  out  of  the  room. 

Dear,  dear  little  Caroline  !  she  has  only  been  in  love  two 
months,  and  is  already  beginning  to  feel  the  woes  of  it ! 

It  cannot  be  from  want  of  experience — for  I  have  felt  the 
noble  passion  of  love  many  times  these  forty  years,  since  I  was 
a  boy  of  twelve  (by  which  the  reader  may  form  a  pretty  good 
guess  of  my  age), — it  cannot  be,  I  say,  from  want  of  experience 
that  I  am  unable  to  describe,  step  by  step  the  progress  of  a 
love-affair ;  nay,  I  am  perfectly  certain  that  I  could,  if  I  chose, 
make  a  most  astonishing  and  heart-rending  liber  amoris ;  but, 
nevertheless,  I  always  feel  a  vast  repugnance  to  the  following 
out  of  a  subject  of  this  kind,  which  I  attribute  to  a  natural 
diffidence  and  sense  of  shame  that  prevent  me  from  enlarging 
on  a  theme  that  has  in  it  something  sacred — certain  arcana 
which  an  honest  man,  although  initiated  into  them,  should  not 
divulge. 

If  such  coy  scruples  and  blushing  delicacy  prevent  one  from 
passing  the  threshold  even  of  an  honorable  love,  and  setting 
down,  at  so  many  guineas  or  shillings  per  page,  the  pious  emo 
tions  and  tenderness  of  two  persons  chastely  and  legally  en- 
gaged in  sighing,  ogling,  hand-squeezing,  kissing,  and  so  forth 
(for  with  such  outward  signs  I  believe  that  the  passion  of  love  is 
expressed), — if  a  man  feel,  I  say,  squeamish  about  describing 
an  innocent  love,  he  is  doubly  disinclined  to  describe  a  guilty 
one  ;  and  I  have  always  felt  a  kind  of  loathing  for  the  skill  of 
such  genuises  as  Rousseau  or  Richardson,  who  could  paint  with 


A  SHABBY  GEXTEEL  STORY.  77 

such  painful  accuracy  all  the  struggles  and  woes  of  Eloise  and 
Clarissa, — all  the  wicked  arts  and  triumphs  of  such  scoundrels 
as  Lovelace. 

We  have  in  this  history  a  scoundrelly  Lovelace  in  the  person 
going  by  the  name  of  George  Brandon,  and  a  dear,  tender,  in- 
nocent, yielding  creature  on  whom  he  is  practising  his  infernal 
skill  ;  and  whether  the  public  feel  any  sympathy  for  her  or  not, 
Ihe  writer  can  only  say,  for  his  part,  that  he  heartily  loves  and 
respects  poor  little  Caroline,  and  is  quite  unwilling  to  enter  into 
any  of  the  slow,  painful,  wicked  details  of  the  courtship  which 
passed  between  her  and  her  lover. 

Not  that  there  was  any  wickedness  on  her  side,  poor  girl  !  or 
that  she  did  anything  but  follow  the  natural  and  beautiful  im- 
pulses of  an  honest  little  female  heart,  that  leads  it  to  trust  and 
love,  and  worship  a  being  of  the  other  sex,  whom  the  eager  fancy 
invests  with  all  sorts  of  attributes  of  superiority.  There  was 
no  wild,  conceited  tale  that  Brandon  told  Caroline  which  she 
did  not  believe, — no  virtue  which  she  could  conceive  or  had 
read  of  in  novels  with  which  she  did  not  endow  him.  Many 
long  talks  had  they,  and  many  sweet,  stolen  interviews,  during 
the  periods  in  which  Caroline's  father  and  mother  were  away 
making  merry  at  the  house  of  their  son-in-law  ;  and  while  she 
was  left  under  the  care  of  her  virtue  and  of  Becky  the  maid. 
Indeed,  it  was  a  blessing  that  the  latter  was  left  in  the  joint 
guardianship.  For  Becky,  who  had  such  an  absurd  opinion  of 
her  young  lady's  merit  as  to  fancy  that  she  was  a  fit  wife  for 
any  gentleman  of  the  land,  and  that  any  gentleman  might  be 
charmed  and  fall  in  love  with  her,  had  some  instinct,  or  possibly 
some  experience,  as  to  the  passions  and  errors  of  youth,  and 
warned  Caroline  accordingly.  "  If  he's  really  in  love,  Miss^ 
and  I  think  he  be,  he'll  marry  you  ;  if  he  won't  marry  you,  he's 
a  rascal,  and  you're  too  good  for  him,  and  must  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him."  To  which  Caroline  replied,  that  she  was  sure 
Mr.  Brandon  was  the  most  angelic,  high-principled  of  human 
beings,  and  that  she  was  sure  his  intentions  were  of  the  most 
honorable  description. 

\\^Q.  have  before  described  what  Mr.  Brandon's  character 
was.  He  v/as  not  a  man  of  honorable  intentions  at  all.  But 
he  was  a  gentlemen  of  so  excessively  eager  a  temperament,  that 
if  properly  resisted  by  a  practised  coquette,  or  by  a  woman  of 
strong  principles,  he  would  sacrifice  anything  to  obtain  his  ends, 
— nay,  marry  to  obtain  them  ;  and,  consider  his  disposition,  it 
is  only  a  wonder  that  he  had  not  been  married  a  great  number 
of  times  already ;  for  he  had  been  in  love  perpetually  since  his 


<jS  ^i  SHABRY  GEXTEEL  STORY. 

seventeenth  year.  By  which  the  reader  may  pretty  well  appre- 
ciate the  virtue  or  the  prudence  of  the  ladies  with  whom  hitherto 
our  infiammable  young  gentleman  had  had  to  do. 

The  fruit,  then,  of  all  his  stolen  interviews,  of  all  his  prayers, 
vows,  and  protestations  to  Caroline,  had  been  only  this, — that 
she  loved  him  ;  but  loved  him  as  an  honest  girl  should,  and 
was  ready  to  go  to  the  altar  with  him  when  he  chose.  He 
talked  about  his  family,  his  peculiar  circumstances,  his  proud 
father's  curse.  Little  Caroline  only  sighed,  and  said  her  dearest 
George  must  wait  until  he  could  obtain  his  parent's  consent. 
When  pressed  harder,  she  would  burst  into  tears,  and  wonder 
how  one  so  good  and  affectionate  as  he  could  propose  to  her 
anything  unworthy  of  them  both.  It  is  clear  to  see  that  the 
young  lady  had  read  a  vast  number  of  novels,  and  knew  some- 
thing of  the  nature  of  love ;  and  that  she  had  a  good  principle 
and  honesty  in  her  own,  which  set  her  lover's  schemes  at 
naught :  indeed,  she  had  both  these  advantages, — her  educa- 
tion, such  as  it  was,  having  given  her  the  one,  and  her  honest 
nature  having  endowed  her  with  the  other. 

On  the  day  when  Fitch  came  down  to  Caroline  with  his 
verses,  Brandon  had  pressed  these  unworthy  propositions  upon 
her.  She  had  torn  herself  violently  away  from  him,  and  rushed 
to  the  door ;  but  the  poor  little  thing  fell  before  she  could 
reach  it,  screaming  in  a  fit  of  hysterics,  which  brought  Becky 
to  her  aid,  and  caused  Brandon  to  leave  her,  abashed.  He 
went  out ;  she  watched  him  go,  and  stole  up  into  his  room,  and 
laid  on  his  table  the  first  letter  she  had  ever  written  to  him. 
It  was  written  in  pencil,  in  a  trembling,  school-girl  hand,  and 
contained  simply  the  following  words  : — 

"  George,  you  have  almost  broken  my  heart.  Leave  me  if  you  will,  and  if  you  dare  not 
act  like  an  honest  man.  If  ever  you  speak  to  me  so  again  as  you  did  this  morning,  I  declare 
solemnly  before  heaven,  I  will  take  poison. 

"  C." 

Indeed,  the  poor  thing  had  read  romances  to  some  purpose  ; 
without  them,  it  is  probable,  she  never  would  have  thought  of 
such  a  means  of  escape  from  a  lover's  persecutions ;  and  there 
was  something  in  the  girl's  character  that  made  Brandon  feel 
sure  that  she  would  keep  her  promise.  How  the  words  agitated 
him  !  He  felt  a  violent  mixture  of  raging  disappointment  and 
admiration,  and  loved  the  girl  ten  thousand  times  more  than 
ever. 

Mr.  Brandon  had  scarcely  finished  the  reading  of  this  docu- 
ment, and  was  yet  agitated  by  the  various  passions  which  the 
perusal  of  it   created,  when    the    door   of  his  apartment  was 


A  SHABBY  GEXTEEL  STORY.  yg 

violently  flung  open,  and  some  one  came  in.  Brandon  started, 
ftnd  turned  round,  with  a  kind  of  dread  that  Caroline  had 
already  executed  her  threat,  and  that  a  messenger  was  come  to 
inform  him  of  her  death.  Mr.  Andrea  Fitch  was  the  intruder. 
His  hat  was  on — his  eyes  were  glaring ;  and  if  the  beards  of 
men  did  stand  on  end  anywhere  but  in  poems  and  romances, 
his,  no  doubt,  would  have  formed  round  his  countenance  a 
bristling  auburn  halo.  As  it  was.  Fitch  only  looked  astonish- 
ingly fierce,  as  he  stalked  up  to  the  table,  his  hands  behind  his 
back.  When  he  had  arrived  at  this  barrier  between  himself 
and  Mr.  Brandon,  he  stopped,  and,  speechless,  stared  that 
gentleman  in  the  face. 

"  May  I  beg,  Mr.  Fitch,  to  know  what  has  procured  me  the 
honor  of  this  visit  ? '"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brandon,  after  a  brief 
pause  of  wonder. 

"  Honor  ! — ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  growled  Mr.  Fitch,  in  a  most 
sardonic,  discordant  way — "  /loiioi- ."' 

"  Well,  sir,  honor  or  no  honor,  I  can  tell  you,  my  good  man, 
it  certainly  is  no  pleasure  !  "  said  Brandon,  testily.  "  In  plain 
English,  then,  what  the  devil  has  brought  you  here .?  " 

Fitch  plumped  the  album  down  on  the  table  close  to  Mr. 
Brandon's  nose,  and  said,  "  T/iat  has  brought  me,  sir — that  hal- 
bum,  sir  ;  or,  I  ask  your  pardon,  that  a — album — ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 
"  Oh,  I  see  !  "  said  Mr.  Brandon,  who  could  not  refrain  from 
a  smile.  "  It  was  a  cruel  trick  of  mine.  Fitch,  to  rob  you  of 
your  verses  ;  but  all's  fair  in  love." 

"  Fitch,  sir !  don't  Fitch  me,  sir  !  I  wish  to  be  hintimate 
honly  with  men  of  h-honor,  not  with  forgers,  sir  ;  not  with 
'artless  miscreants  !  Miscreants,  sir,  I  repeat  ;  vipers,  sir  ; 
b — b — b — blackguards,  sir  !  " 

"  Blackguards,  sir  !  "  roared  Mr.  Brandon,  bouncing  up  ; 
"  blackguards,  you  dirty  cockney  mountebank  !  Quit  the  room, 
sir,  or  I'll  fling  you  out  of  the  window  !  " 

''  Will  you,  sir  ?  try,  sir  ;  I  wish  you  may  get  it,  sir.  I'm  a 
hartist,  sir,  and  as  good  a  man  as  you.  Miscreant,  forger, 
traitor,  come  on  !  " 

And  Mr.  Brandon  would  have  come  on,  but  for  a  circum- 
stance that  deterred  him  ;  and  this  was,  that  Mr.  Fitch  drew 
from  his  bosom  a  long,  sharp,  shining,  waving  poniard  of  the 
middle  ages,  that  formed  a  part  of  his  artistical  properties,  and 
with  which  he  had  armed  himself  for  this  encounter. 

"Come  on,  sir  !"  shrieked  Fitch,  brandishing  this  fearful 
weapon.  "  Lay  a  finger  on  me,  and  I  bury  this  blade  in  youf 
treacherous  'art.     Ha  !  do  you  tremble  ?  " 


8o  A  SriAPBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

Indeed,  the  aristocratic  Mr.  Brandon  turned  somewhat 
pale. 

"Well,  well,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  want?  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  am  to  be  bullied  by  your  absurd  melodramatic  airs  !  It 
was,  after  all,  but  a  joke,  sir,  and  I  am  sorry  that  it  has  offended 
you.     Can  I  say  more  ? — what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  shall  hapologize  ;  not  only  to  me,  sir,  but  you  shall 
tel/  Miss  Caroline,  in  my  presence,  that  you  stole  those  verses 
from  me,  and  used  them  quite  unauthorized  by  me." 

"  Look  you,  Mr.  Fitch,  I  will  make  you  another  set  of  verses 
quite  as  good,  if  you  like  ;  but  what  you  ask  is  impossible." 

"  I  will  'asten  myself,  then,  to  Miss  Caroline,  and  acquaint 
her  with  your  dastardly  forgery,  sir.  I  will  hopen  her  heyes, 
sir  !  " 

"  You  may  hopen  her  heyes,  as  you  call  them,  if  you  please  : 
but  I  tell  you  fairly,  that  the  young  lady  will  credit  me  rather 
than  you  ;  and  if  you  swear  ever  so  much  that  the  verses  are 
yours,  I  must  say  that " 

*'  Say  what,  sir  ? '' 

"  Say  that  you  lie,  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Brandon,  stamping  on  the 
ground.  "  I'll  make  you  other  verses,  I  repeat ;  but  this  is  all 
I  can  do,  and  now  go  about  your  business  !  " 

"  Curse  your  verses,  sir  !  liar  and  forger  yourself  !  Hare 
you  a  coward  as  well,  sir  ?  A  coward  !  yes,  I  believe  you  are  ; 
or  will  you  meet  me  to-morrow  morning  like  a  man,  and  give  me 
satisfaction  for  this  hinfamous  hinsult  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  with  the  utmost  stateliness  and 
scorn,  "  If  you  wish  to  murder  me  as  you  do  the  king's  English, 
I  won't  balk  you.  Although  a  man  of  my  rank  is  not  called 
upon  to  meet  a  blackguard  of  your  condition,  I  will,  neverthe- 
less, grant  you  your  will.  But  have  a  care  ;  by  heavens,  I  won't 
spare  you,  and  I  can  hit  an  ace  of  hearts  at  twenty  paces !  " 

"  Two  can  play  at  that,"  said  Mr.  Fitch,  calmly  ;  "  and  if  I 
can't  hit  a  hace  of  'arts  at  twenty  paces,  I  can  hit  a  man  at 
twelve,  and  to-morrow  I'll  try."  With  which,  giving  Mr.  Bran- 
don a  look  of  the  highest  contempt,  the  young  painter  left  the 
room. 

What  were  Mr.  Brandon's  thoughts  as  his  antagonist  left 
him  ?  Strange  to  say,  rather  agreeable.  He  had  much  too 
great  a  contempt  for  Fitch  to  suppose  that  so  low  a  fellow  would 
ever  think  seriously  of  fighting  him,  and  reasoned  with  himself 
thus : — 

"  This  Fitcli,  I  know,  will  go  off  to  Caroline,  tell  her  the 
whole  transaction,  frighten  her  with  the  tale  of  a  duel,  and  then 


A  SHABBY  GEXTEEL  STORY.  gj 

she  and  I  shall  have  a  scene.  I  will  tell  her  the  truth  about 
those  infernal  verses,  menace  death,  blood,  and  danger,  and. 
then " 

Here  he  fell  back  into  a  charming  reverie  ;  the  wily  fellow 
knew  what  power  such  a  circumstance  would  give  him  over  a 
poor  weak  girl,  who  would  do  anything  rather  than  that  her 
beloved  should  risk  his  life.  And  with  this  dastardly  speculation 
as  to  the  price  he  should  ask  for  refraining  from  meeting  Fitch, 
he  was  entertaining  himself ;  when,  much  to  his  annoyance,  that 
gentleman  again  came  into  the  room. 

"Mr.  Brandon,"  said  he,  "you  have  insulted  me  in  the 
grossest  and  cruellest  way." 

"  Well,  sir,  are  you  come  to  apologize  ?  "  said  Brandon 
sneeringly. 

"  No,  I'm  not  come  to  apologize,  Mr.  Aristocrat  :  it's  past 
that.  I'm  come  to  say  this,  sir,  that  I  take  you  for  a  coward  ; 
and  that,  unless  you  will  give  me  your  solemn  word  of  honor 
not  to  mention  a  word  of  this  quarrel  to  Miss  Gann,  which 
might  prevent  our  meeting,  I  will  never  leave  you  till  we  do 
fight  !  " 

"  This  is  outrageous,  sir  !  Leave  the  room,  or  by  heavens 
I'll  not  meet  you  at  all  !  " 

"  Heasy,  sir ;  easy  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  can  force  you  to 
that ! " 

"  And  how,  pray,  sir  ?  " 

"Why,  in  the  first  place,  here's  a  stick,  and  I'll  'orsewhip 
you  ;  and  here  are  a  pair  of  pistols,  and  we  can  fight  now  !  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  give  you  my  honor,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  in  a 
diabolical  rage  ;  and  added,  "  I'll  meet  you  to-morrow,  not  now  ; 
and  you  need  not  be  afraid  that  I'll  miss  you  !  " 

"  Hadew,  sir,"  said  the  chivalrous  little  Fitch ;  "  bon  giorno, 
sir,  as  we  used  to  say  at  Rome."  And  so,  for  the  second  time, 
he  left  Mr.  Brandon,  who  did  not  like  very  well  the  extraordi- 
nary courage  he  had  displayed. 

"  What  the  deuce  has  exasperated  the  fellow  so  ?  "  thought 
Brandon. 

Why,  in  the  first  place,  he  had  crossed  Fitch  in  love  ;  and, 
in  the  second,  he  had  sneered  at  his  pronunciation  and  his 
gentility,  and  Fitch's  little  soul  was  in  a  fury  which  nothing  but 
blood  would  allay  :  he  was  determined,  for  the  sake  of  his  hart 
and  his  lady,  to  bring  this  proud  champion  down. 

So  Brandon  was  at  last  left  to  his  cogitations ;  when,  con- 
fusion !  about  five  o'clock  came  another  knock  at  his  door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  growled  the  owner  of  the  lodgings. 

6 


g2  A  SHABBY  GEXTKEI.  STORY. 

A  sallow,  blear-eyed,  rickety,  undersized  creature,  tottering 
upon  a  pair  of  high-heeled  lacquered  boots,  and  supporting 
himself  upon  an  immense  gold-knobbed  cane,  entered  the  room 
with  his  hat  on  one  side  and  a  jaunty  air.  It  was  a  white  hal 
.with  a  broad  brim,  and  under  it  fell  a  great  deal  of  greasy  lank 
hair,  that  shrouded  the  cheek-bones  of  the  wearer.  The  little 
man  had  no  beard  to  his  chin,  appeared  about  twenty  years  of 
age,  and  might  weigh,  stick  and  all,  some  seven  stone.  If  you 
wish  to  know  how  this  exquisite  was  dressed,  I  have  the  pleasure 
to  inform  you  that  he  wore  a  great  sky-blue  embroidered  satin 
stock,  in  the  which  figured  a  carbuncle  that  looked  like  a  lam- 
bent gooseberry.  He  had  a  shawl-waistcoat  of  many  colors  ; 
a  pair  of  loose  blue  trousers,  neatly  strapped  to  show  his  little 
feet :  a  brown  cut-away  coat  with  brass  buttons,  that  fitted  tight 
round  a  spider  waist ;  and  over  all  a  white  or  drab  surtout, 
with  a  sable  collar  and  cuffs,  from  which  latter  on  each  hand 
peeped  five  little  fingers  covered  with  lemon-colored  kid  gloves. 
One  of  these  hands  he  held  constantly  to  his  little  chest :  and, 
with  a  hoarse  thin  voice,  he  piped  ©ut, 

"  George,  my  buck  !  how  goes  it .-'  " 

We  have  been  thus  particular  in  our  description  of  the 
costume  of  this  individual  (whose  inward  man  strongly  cor- 
responded with  his  manly  and  agreeable  exterior),  because  he 
was  the  person  whom  Mr.  Brandon  most  respected  in  the 
world. 

"  CiNQBARS  !  "  exclaimed  our  hero  ;  "  why,  what  the  deuce 
has  brought  you  to  Margate  ?  " 

"  Fwendship,  my  old  cock  !  "  said  the  Honorable  Augustus 
Frederick  Ringwood,  commonly  called  Viscount  Cinqbars,  for 
indeed  it  was  he.  "  Fwendship  and  the  City  of  Canferbuwy 
steamer !  "  and  herewith  his  lordship  held  out  his  right-hand 
forefinger  to  Brandon,  who  enclosed  it  most  cordially  in  all  his. 
"Wathn't  it  good  of  me,  now,  George,  to  come  down  and  con- 
thole  you  in  thith  curthed,  thtupid  place — hay,  now  ?  "  said  my 
lord,  after  these  salutations. 

Brandon  swore  he  was  very  glad  to  see  him,  which  was  very 
true,  for  he  had  no  sooner  set  his  eyes  upon  his  lordship,  than 
he  had  determined  to  borrow  as  much  money  from  him  as  ever 
he  could  induce  the  young  nobleman  to  part  with. 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  it  wath,  my  boy  :  you  thee  I  wath  thtop- 
ping  at  Long'th,  when  I  found,  by  Jove,  that  the  governor  wath 
come  to  town  !  Cuth  me  I  if  didn't  meet  the  infarnal  old 
family  dwag,  with  my  mother,  thithterth,  and  all,  ath  1  wath 
dwiving  a  hack-cab  with  l^olly  Tomkinth  in  the  Pawk  !     'J'ho 


A  SHABBY  CEXTEEL  STORY.  83 

when  I  got  home,  '  Hang  it !  '  thayth  I  to  Tufthunt,  '  Tom,  my 
boy,'  thaith  I,  'I've  just  theen  the  governor,  and  must  be  off ! ' 
'  What,  back  to  Ockthford  ? '  thaith  Tom.  '  No,'  thaith  I,  '  that 
woiit  do.  Abroad — to  Jewicho — anywhere.  Egad,  I  have  it. 
I'll  go  down  to  Margate  and  thee  old  George,  that  I  will.' 
And  tho  off  I  came  the  very  next  day  ;  and  here  I  am,  and 
thereth  dinner  waiting  for  uth  at  the  hotel,  and  thixth  bottleth 
of  champagne  in  ithe,  and  thum  thalmon  :  tho  you  mutht 
come." 

To  this  proposition  Mr.  Brandon  readily  agreed,  being  glad 
enough  of  the  prospect  of  a  good  dinner  and  some  jovial 
society,  for  he  was  low  and  disturbed  in  spirits,  and  so  promised 
to  dine  with  his  friend  at  the  ''  Sun." 

The  two  gentlemen  conversed  for  some  time  longer.  Mr. 
Brandon  was  a  shrewd  fellow,  and  knew  perfectly  w^ell  a  fact  of 
which,  no  doubt,  the  reader  has  a  notion — namely,  that  Lord 
Cinqbars  was  a  ninny ;  but,  nevetheless,  Brandon  esteemed 
him  highly  as  a  lord.  We  pardon  stupidity  in  lords  ;  nature  or 
instinct,  however  sarcastic  a  man  may  be  among  ordinary  per- 
sons, renders  him  towards  men  of  quality  benevolently  blind  ;  a 
divinity  hedges  not  only  the  king,  but  the  whole  peerage.  . 

"  That's  the  girl,  I  suppose,"  said  my  lord,  knowingly  wink- 
ing at  Brandon  :  "  that  little  pale  girl,  who  let  me  in,  I  mean. 
A  nice  little  filly,  upon  my  honor,  Georgy  my  buck  ! " 

"  Oh — that — yes — I  wrote,  I  think,  something  about  her," 
said  Brandon,  blushing  slightly  ;  for,  indeed,  he  now  began  to 
wish  that  his  friend  should  make  no  comments  upon  a  young 
lady  with  whom  he  was  so  much  in  love. 

"  I  suppose  it's  all  up  now  ?  "  continued  my  lord,  looking 
still  more  knowing.  "  All  over  with  her,  hay  ?  I  saw  it  was 
by  her  looks,  in  a  minute." 

"  Indeed  you  do  me  a  great  deal  too  much  honor.  Miss — 
ah, — Miss  Gann  is  a  very  respectable  young  person,  and  I 
would  not  for  the  world  have  you  to  suppose  that  I  would  do 
anything  that  should  the  least  injure  her  character." 

At  this  speech,  Lord  Cinqbars  was  at  first  much  puzzled  ; 
but,  in  considering  it,  was  fully  convinced  that  Brandon  was  a 
deeper  dog  than  ever.  Boiling  with  impatience  to  know  the 
particulars  of  this  delicate  intrigue,  this  cunning  diplomatist 
determined  he  would  pump  the  whole  story  out  of  Brandon  by 
degrees  ;  and  so,  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour's  conversation 
that  the  young  men  had  together,  Cinqbars  did  not  make  less 
than  forty  allusions  to  the  subject  tliat  interested  him.  At  last 
Brandon  cut  him  short  rather  haughtily,  by  begging  that  he 


84 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


would  make  no  further  allusions  to  the  subject,  as  it  was  one 
that  was  excessively  disagreeable  to  him. 

"  In  fact,  there  was  no  mistake  about  it  now.  George 
Brandon  was  in  love  with  Caroline.  He  felt  that  he  was  while 
he  blushed  at  his  friend's  alluding  to  her,  while  he  grew  indig- 
nant at  the  young  lord's  coarse  banter  about  her. 

Turning  the  conversation  to  another  point,  he  asked  Cinq- 
bars  about  his  voyage,  and  whether  he  had  brought  any  com- 
panion with  him  to  Margate  ;  whereupon  my  lord  related  all 
his  feats  in  London,  how  he  had  been  to  the  watch-house,  how 
many  bottles  of  champagne  he  had  drunk,  how  he  had  "  milled  " 
a  policeman,  &c.,  &c. ;  and  he  concluded  by  saying  that  he  had 
come  down  with  Tom  Tufthunt,  who  was  at  the  inn  at  that  very 
moment  smoking  a  cigar. 

Tliis  did  not  increase  Brandon's  good-humor  ;  and  when 
Cinqbars  mentioned  his  friend's  name,  Brandon  saluted  it  men- 
tally with  a  hearty  curse.  These  two  gentlemen  hated  each 
other  of  old.  Tufthunt  was  a  small  college  man  of  no  family, 
with  a  foundation  fellowship ;  and  it  used  to  be  considered  that 
a  sporting  fellow  of  a  small  college  was  a  sad,  raffish,  disrepu- 
table character.  Tufthunt,  then,  was  a  A'ulgar  fellow,  and  Bran- 
don a  gentleman,  so  they  hated  each  other.  They  were  both 
toadies  of  the  same  nobleman,  so  they  hated  each  other.  They 
had  had  some  quarrel  at  college  about  a  disputed  bet,  which 
Brandon  knew  he  owed,  and  so  they  hated  each  other ;  and  in 
their  words  about  it  Brandon  had  threatened  to  horsewhip  Tuft- 
hunt, and  called  him  a  "  sneaking,  swindling,  small  college 
snob  ;  "  and  so  little  Tufthunt,  who  had  not  resented  the  words, 
hated  Brandon  far  more  than  Brandon  hated  him.  The  latter 
only  had  a  contempt  for  his  rival,  and  voted  him  a  profound 
bore  and  vulgarian. 

So,  although  Mr.  Tufthunt  did  not  choose  to  frequent  Mr. 
Brandon's  rooms,  he  was  very  anxious  that  his  friend,  the  young 
lord,  should  not  fall  into  his  old  bear-leader's  hands  again,  and 
came  down  to  Margate  to  counteract  any  influence  which  the 
arts  of  Brandon  might  acquire. 

"  Curse  the  fellow  !  "  thought  'I'ufthunl  in  his  heart  (there 
was  a  fine  reciprocity  of  curses  between  the  two  men)  ;  "  he  has 
drawn  Cinqbars  already  for  fifty  pounds  this  year,  and  will  have 
some  half  of  his  last  remittance,  if  I  don't  keep  a  look-out,  the 
swindling  thief  !  " 

And  so  frightened  was  'I'ufthunt  at  the  notion  of  Brandon's 
return  to  power  and  dishonest  use  of  it,  that  he  was  at  the 
time  on  the  point  of  writing  to  Lord  Ringwood  to  tell  him  of 


A  SrrABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  85 

his  son's  doings,  only  he  wanted  some  money  deucedly  himself. 
Of  Mr.  Tufthunt's  physique  and  history  it  is  necessary  merely 
to  say,  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  country  attorney  who  was 
agent  to  a  lord  ;  he  had  been  sent  to  a  foundation-school,  where 
he  distinguished  himself  for  ten  years,  by  fighting  and  being 
flogged  more  than  any  boy  of  the  live  hundred.  From  the 
foundation-school  he  went  to  college  with  an  exhibition,  which 
was  succeeded  by  a  fellowship,  which  was  to  end  in  a  living. 
In  his  person  Mr.  Tufthunt  was  short  and  bow-legged  ;  he  wore 
a  sort  of  clerico-sporting  costume,  consisting  of  a  black  straight- 
cut  coat  and  light  drab  breeches,  with  a  vast  number  of  buttons 
at  the  ankles  ;  a  sort  of  dress  much  affectioned  by  sporting 
gentlemen  of  the  university  in  the  author's  time. 

Well,  Brandon  said  he  had  some  letters  to  write,  and  prom- 
ised to  follow  his  friend,  which  he  did ;  but,  if  the  truth  must 
be  told,  so  infatuated  was  the  young  man  become  with  his  pas- 
sion, with  the  resistance  he  had  met  with,  and  so  nervous  from 
the  various  occurrences  of  the  morning,  that  he  passed  the  half 
hour  during  which  he  was  free  from  Cinqbars'  society  in  kneel- 
ing, imploring,  weeping  at  Caroline's  little  garret  door,  which 
had  remained  piteously  closed  to  him.  He  was  wild  with  dis- 
appointment, mortification — mad,  longing  to  see  her.  The 
cleverest  coquette  in  Europe  could  not  have  so  inflamed  him. 
His  first  act  on  entering  the  dinner-room  was  to  drink  off  a 
large  tumbler  of  champagne  ;  and  when  Cinqbars,  in  his  elegant 
way,  began  to  rally  him  upon  his  wildness,  Mr.  Brandon  only 
growled  and  cursed  with  frightful  vehemency,  and  applied  again 
to  the  bottle.  His  face,  which  had  been  quite  white,  grew  a 
bright  red  ;  his  tongue,  which  had  been  tied,  began  to  chatter 
vehemently ;  before  the  fish  was  off  the  table,  Mr.  Brandon 
showed  strong  symptoms  of  intoxication  ;  before  the  dessert 
appeared,  Mr.  Tufthunt,  winking  knowingly  to  Lord  Cinqbars, 
had  begun  to  draw  him  out ;  and  Brandon,  with  a  number  of 
shrieks  and  oaths,  was  narrating  the  history  of  his  attachment. 

"  Look  you,  Tufthunt,"  said  he,  wildly  ;  "  hang  you,  I  hate 
you,  but  I  must  talk  !  I've  been,  for  two  months  now,  in  this 
cursed  hole  ;  in  a  rickety  lodging,  with  a  vulgar  family  ;  as  vul- 
gar, by  Jove,  as  you  are  yourself  !  " 

Mr.  Tufthunt  did  not  like  this  style  of  address  half  so  much 
as  Lord  Cinqbars,  who  was  laughing  immoderately,  and  to 
whom  Tufthunt  whispered  rather  sheepishly,  "  Pooh,  pooh,  he's 
drunk  !  " 

"  Drunk  !  no,  sir,"  yelled  out  Brandon  ;  "  I'm  mad,  though, 
with  the  prudery  of  a  little  devil  of  fifteen,  who  has  cost   me 


86  A  srrABFY  gentekl  story. 

more  trouble  than  it  would  lake  me  to  seduce  every  one  of 
your  sisters — ha,  ha  !  every  one  of  the  MissTufthunts,  by  Jove  ! 
Miss  Suky  Tufthunt,  Miss  Dolly  Tufthunt,  Miss  Anna-Maria 
Tufthunt,  and  the  whole  bunch.  Come,  sir,  don't  sit  scowling 
at  me,  or  I'll  brain  you  with  the  decanter."  (Tufthunt  was 
down  again  on  the  sofa.)  "  I've  borne  with  the  girl's  mother, 
and  her  father,  and  her  sisters,  and  a  cook  in  the  house,  and  a 
scoundrel  of  a  painter,  that  I'm  going  to  fight  about  her  ;  and 
for  what? — why,  for  a  letter,  which  says,  'George,  I'll  kill  my- 
self! George,  I'll  kill  myself!  ' — ha,  ha!  a  little  devil  like  that 
killing  herself — ha,  ha  !  and  I — I  who — who  adore  her,  who  am 
mad  for " 

"  Mad,  I  believe  he  is,"  said  Tufthunt ;  and  at  this  moment 
Mr,  Brandon  was  giving  the  most  unequivocal  signs  of  mad- 
ness ;  he  plunged  his  head  into  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  was 
kicking  his  feet  violently  into  the  cushions. 

"  You  don't  understand  him.  Tufty,  my  boy,"  said  Lord 
Cinqbars,  with  a  very  superior  air.  "You  ain't  up  to  these 
things,  I  tell  you  ;  and  I  suspect,  by  Jove,  that  you  never  were 
in  love  in  your  life.  /  know  what  it  is,  sir.  And  as  for  Bran- 
don, heaven  bless  you  !  I've  often  seen  him  in  that  way  when 
we  were  abroad.  When  he  has  an  intrigue,  he's  mad  about  it. 
Let  us  see,  there  was  the  Countess  Fritzch,  at  Baden-Baden  ; 
there  was  the  woman  at  Pau  ;  and  that  girl  at  Paris,  was  it  ? — 
no,  at  Vienna.  He  went  on  just  so  about  them  all ;  but  I'll  tell 
you  what,  when  we  do  the  thing,  we  do  it  easier,  my  boy,  hay  ? " 

And  so  saying,  my  lord  cocked  up  his  little  sallow,  beardless 
face  into  a  grin,  and  then  fell  to  eyeing  a  glass  of  execrable 
claret  across  a  candle.  An  intrigue,  as  he  called  it,  was  the 
little  creature's  delight  ;  and  until  the  time  should  arrive  when 
he  could  have  one  himself,  he  loved  to  talk  of  those  of  his  friends. 

As  for  Tufthunt,  we  may  fancy  how  that  gentleman's 
previous  affection  for  Brandon  was  increased  by  the  latter's 
lorutal  addresses  to  him.  Brandon  continued  to  drink  and  to 
talk,  though  not  always  in  the  sentimental  way  in  which  he  had 
spoken  about  his  loves  and  injuries.  Growing  presently  madly 
jocose  as  he  had  before  been  madly  melancholy,  he  narrated  to 
the  two  gentlemen  the  particulars  of  his  quarrel  with  Fitch, 
mimicking  the  little  painter's  manner  in  an  excessively  comic 
way,  and  giving  the  most  ludicrous  account  of  his  person,  kept 
his  companions  in  a  roar  of  laughter.  Cinqbars  swore  that 
he  would  see  the  fun  in  the  morning,  and  agreed  that  if  the 
painter  wanted  a  second,  either  he  or  Tufthunt  would  act  foi 
him. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  87 

Now  my  Lord  Ciiiqbars  had  an  excessively  clever  servant,  a 
merry  rogue,  whom  he  had  discovered  in  the  humble  capacity 
of  scout's  assistant  at  Christchurch,  and  raised  to  be  his  valet. 
The  chief  duties  of  the  valet  were  to  black  his  lord's  beautiful 
boots,  that  we  have  admired  so  much,  and  put  his  lordship  to 
bed  when  overtaken  with  liquor.  He  heard  every  word  of  the 
young  men's  talk  (it  being  his  habit,  much  encouraged  by  his 
master,  to  join  occasionally  in  the  conversation)  ;  and  in  the 
course  of  the  night,  when  at  supper  with  Monsieur  Donner- 
wetter  and  Mdlle.  Augustine,  he  related  every  word  of  the  talk 
above  stairs,  mimicking  Brandon  quite  as  cleverly  as  the  latter 
had  mimicked  Fitch.  When  then,  after  making  his  company 
laugh  by  describing  Brandon's  love-agonies,  Mr.  Tom  informed 
them  how  that  gentleman  had  a  rival,  with  whom  he  was  going 
to  fight  a  duel  the  next  morning — an  artist-fellow  with  an 
immense  beard,  whose  name  was  Pitch,  to  his  surprize  Mdlle. 
Augustine  burst  into  a  scream  of  laughter,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Feesh,  Fecsh  !  cest  tiotre  homme ; — it  is  our  man,  sare  !  Saladin, 
remember  you  Mr.  Fish  ?  " 

Saladin  said  gravely,  "  Missa  Fis,  Missa  Fis  !  know  'um 
quite  well,  Missa  Fis  !  Painter-man,  big  beard,  gib  Saladin  bit 
injyrubby,  Missus  lub  Missa  Fis  !  " 

It  was  too  true,  the  fat  lady  was  the  famous  Mrs.  Carrick- 
FERGUS,  and  she  had  come  all  the  way  from  Rome  in  pursuit  of 
her  adored  painter. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHICH    THREATENS     DEATH,    BUT    CONTAINS    A    GREAT   DEAL   OF 
MARRYING. 

As  the  morrow  was  to  be  an  eventful  day  in  the  lives  of  all 
the  heroes  and  heroines  of  this  history,  it  will  be  as  well  to  state 
how  they  passed  the  night  previous.  Brandon,  like  the  English 
before  the  battle  of  Hastings,  spent  the  evening  in  feasting  and 
carousing  ;  and  Lord  Cinqbars,  at  twelve  o'clock,  his  usual 
time  after  his  usual  quantity  of  drink,  was  carried  up  to  bed  by 
the  servant  kept  by  his  lordship  for  that  purpose.  Mr.  Tuft- 
hunt  took  this  as  a  hint  to  wish  Brandon  good-night,  at  the  same 
time  promising  that  he  and  Cinqbars  would  not  fail  him  in  the 
morning  about  the  duel. 


^8  -^  SIIAniiV  GF.XTRF.I.  STORY. 

Shall  we  confess  that  Mr.  Jirandon,  whose  exciteiiieiU  now 
began  to  wear  off,  and  who  had  a  dreadful  headache,  did  not  at 
all  relish  the  idea  of  the  morrow's  combat. 

"  If,"  said  he,  '*  I  shoot  this  crack-brained  painter,  all  the 
world  will  cry  out,  '  Murder  ! '  If  he  shoot  me,  all  the  world 
will  laugh  at  me  !  And  yet,  confound  him  !  he  seems  so  bent 
upon  blood,  that  there  is  no  escaping  a  meeting." 

"At  any  rate,"  Brandon  thought,  "there  will  be  no  harm 
in  a  letter  to  Caroline."  So,  on  arriving  at  home,  he  sat  down 
and  wrote  a  very  pathetic  one  ;  saying  that  he  fought  in  her 
cause,  and  if  he  died,  his  last  breath  should  be  for  her.  So 
having  written,  he  jumped  into  bed,  and  did  not  sleep  one 
single  wink  all  night. 

As  Brandon  passed  his  night  like  the  English,  P"itch  went 
through  his  like  the  Normans,  in  fasting,  and  mortification,  and 
meditation.  The  poor  fellow  likewise  indited  a  letter  to  Caro- 
line :  a  very  long  and  strong  one,  interspersed  with  pieces  of 
poetry,  and  containing  the  words  we  have  just  heard  him  utter 
out  of  the  window.  Then  he  thought  about  making  his  will  ; 
but  he  recollected,  and,  indeed,  it  was  a  bitter  thought  to  the 
young  man,  that  there  was  not  one  single  soul  in  the  wide  world 
cared  for  him — except,  indeed,  thought  he,  after  a  pause,  that 
poor  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  at  Rome,  who  did  like  me,  and  was 
the  only  person  who  ever  bought  my  drawings.  So  he  made 
over  all  his  sketches  to  her,  regulated  his  little  property,  found 
that  lie  had  money  enough  to  pay  his  washer-woman  ;  and  so,  hav- 
ing disposed  of  his  worldly  concerns,  Mr.  Pitch  also  jumped 
into  bed,  and  speedily  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  Brandon  could 
hear  him  snoring  all  night,  and  did  not  feel  a  bit  the  more  com- 
fortable because  his  antagonist  took  matters  so  unconcernedly. 

Indeed,  our  poor  painter  had  no  guilty  thoughts  in  his 
breast,  nor  any  particular  revenge  against  Brandon,  now  that 
the  first  pangs  of  mortified  vanity  were  over.  But,  wuth  all  his 
vagaries,  he  was  a  man  of  spirit  ;  and  after  what  had  passed 
in  the  morning,  the  treason  that  had  been  done  him,  and  the 
insults  heaped  upon  him,  he  felt  that  the  duel  was  irrevocable. 
He  had  a  misty  notion,  imbibed  somewhere,  that  it  was  the 
part  of  a  gentleman's  duty  to  fight  duels,  and  had  long  been 
seeking  for  an  opportunity.  "  Suppose  I  do  die,"  said  he, 
"what's  the  odds?  Caroline  doesn't  care  for  me.  Dr.  Wacker- 
bart's  boys  won't  have  their  drawing-lesson  next  Wednesday  ; 
and  no  more  will  be  said  of  poor  Andrea." 

And  now  for  the  garret.  Caroline  was  wrapped  up  in  her 
own  woes,  poor  little  soul  I  and  in  the  arms  of  the  faithful 


A  SUA  EB I '  GENTEEL  S  TOR  K.  89 

Becky  cried  herself  to  sleep.  But  the  slow  liours  passed  on 
and  the  tide,  which  had  been  out,  now  came  in  ;  and  the  lamps 
waxed  fainter  and  fainter  ;  and  the  watchman  cried  six  o'clock  ; 
and  the  sun  arose  and  gilded  the  minarets  of  Margate  ;  and 
Becky  got  up  and  scoured  the  steps,  and  kitchen,  and  made 
ready  the  lodgers'  breakfasts  ;  and  at  half-past  eight  there  came 
a  thundering  rap  at  the  door,  and  two  gentlemen,  one  with  a 
mahogany  case  under  his  arm,  asked  for  Mr.  Brandon,  and 
were  shown  up  to  his  room  by  the  astonished  Becky,  who  was 
bidden  by  Mr.  Brandon  to  get  breakfast  for  three. 

The  thundering  rap  awakened  Mr.  Fitch,  who  rose  and 
dressed  himself  in  his  best  clothes,  gave  a  twist  of  the  curling- 
tongs  to  his  beard,  and  conducted  himself  throughout  with 
perfect  coolness.  Nine  o'clock  struck,  and  he  wrapped  his 
cloak  round  him,  and  put  under  his  cloak  that  pair  of  foils  which 
we  have  said  he  possessed,  and  did  not  know  in  the  least  how 
to  use.  However,  he  had  heard  his  camarades  d' atelier,  at  Paris 
and  Rome,  say  that  they  were  the  best  weapons  for  duelling; 
and  so  forth  he  issued. 

Becky  was  in  the  passage  as  he  passed  down  ;  she  was 
always  scrubbing  there.  "  Becky,"  said  Fitch,  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "  here  is  a  letter ;  if  I  should  not  return  in  half  an  hour, 
give  it  to  Miss  Gann,  and  promise  on  your  honor  that  she  shall 
not  have  it  sooner."  Becky  promised.  She  thought  the  painter 
was  at  some  of  his  mad  tricks.  He  went  out  of  the  door  sa 
luting  her  gravely. 

But  he  went  only  a  few  steps  and  came  back  again. 
"Becky,"  said  he,  "you — you've  always  been  a  good  girl  to 
me,  and  here's  something  for  you  ;  per'aps  we  sha'n't — we  sha'n't 
see  each  other  for  some  time."  The  tears  were  in  his  eyes  as 
he  spoke,  and  he  handed  her  over  seven  shillings  and  four- 
pence  halfpenny,  being  every  farthing  he  possessed  in  the 
world. 

"  Well,  Fm  sure  !  "  said  Becky  ;  and  that  was  all  she  said, 
for  she  pocketed  the  money,  and  fell  to  scrubbing  again. 

Presently  the  three  gentlemen  up  stairs  came  clattering 
down.  "  Lock  bless  you,  don't  be  in  such  a  'urry  !  "  exclaimed 
Becky ;  "  it's  full  herly  yet,  and  the  water's  not  biling." 

"We'll  come  back  to  breakfast,  my  dear,"  said  one,  a  little 
gentleman  in  high-heeled  boots  ;  "•  and,  I  thay,  mind  and  have 
thum  thoda-water."  And  he  walked  out,  twirling  his  cane. 
His  friend  with  the  case  followed  him.  Mr.  Brandon  came 
last. 

He  too  turned  back  after  he  had  gone  a  few  paces.    "  Bocky," 


go  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

said  he,  in  a  grave  voice,  '*  if  1  am  not  back  in  half-an-hour, 
give  that  to  Miss  Gann." 

Becky  was  fairly  fiusterecl  by  tliis  ;  and  after  turning  the 
letters  round  and  round,  and  peeping  into  the  sides,  and  look- 
ing at  the  seals  very  hard,  she  like  a  fool  determined  that  she 
would  not  wait  halfan-hour,  but  carry  them  up  to  Miss  Caroline  ; 
and  so  up  she  mounted,  finding  pretty  Caroline  in  the  act  of 
lacing  her  stays. 

And  the  consequences  of  Becky's  conduct  was  that  little 
Carry  left  off  lacing  her  stays  (a  sweet  little  figure  the  poor 
thing  looked  in  them  ;  but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there),  took 
the  letters,  looked  at  one  which  she  threw  down  directly  ;  at 
the  other,  which  she  eagerly  opened,  and  having  read  a  line  or 
two,  gave  a  loud  scream,  and  fell  down  dead  in  a  fainting  fit ! 
*  *  *  *  * 

Waft  us,  O  Muse  !  to  Mr.  Wright's  hotel,  and  quick  narrate 
what  chances  there  befel.  Very  early  in  the  morning  Mdlle. 
Augustine  made  her  appearance  in  the  apartment  of  Miss 
Runt,  and  with  great  glee  informed  the  lady  of  the  event  which 
was  about  to  take  place.  "  Figurez-vous,  mademoiselle,  que 
notre  homme  va  se  battre — oh,  but  it  will  be  droll  to  see  him 
sword  in  hand  !  " 

"  Don't  plague  me  with  your  ojous  servants'  quarrels,  Au- 
gustine ;  that  horrid  courier  is  always  quarrelling  and  tipsy." 

"  Mon  Dieu,  qu'elle  est  bete  !  "  exclaimed  Augustine  :  "  but 
I  tell  you  it  is  not  the  courier  ;  it  is  he,  I'objet,  le  peintre  dont 
madame  s'est  aniourache'e,  Monsieur  Feesh." 

"  Mr.  Fitch  !  "  cried  Runt,  jumping  up  in  bed.  "  Mr.  Fitch 
going  to  fight !  Augustine,  my  stockings — quick,  my  robe-de- 
chambre — tell  me  when,  how,  where  ?  " 

And  so  Augustine  told  her  that  the  combat  was  to  take 
place  at  nine  that  morning,  behind  the  Windmill,  and  that  the 
gentleman  with  whom  Mr.  Fitch  was  to  go  out,  had  been  dining 
at  the  hotel  the  night  previous,  in  company  with  the  little  milor, 
who  was  to  be  his  second. 

Quick  as  lightning  fiew  Runt  to  the  chamber  of  her  pa- 
troness. That  lady  was  in  a  profound  sleep  ;  and  1  leave  you 
to  imagine  what  were  her  sensations  on  awaking  and  hearing 
this  dreadful  tale. 

Such  is  the  force  of  love,  that  although,  for  many  years,  Mrs. 
Carrickfergus  had  never  left  her  bed  before  noon,  although  in 
all  her  wild  wanderings  after  the  painter  she,  nevertheless, 
would  have  her  tea  and  cutlet  in  bed,  and  her  doze  likewise, 
before  she  set  forth  on  a  journey — she  now  started  up  in  an 


A  SHABliV  GENTEEL  STORY. 


91 


instant,  forgetting  her  nap,  mutton-chops,  everything,  and  be- 
gan dressing  with  a  promptitude  which  can  only  be  equalled  by 
Harlequin  when  disguising  himself  in  a  pantomime.  She  would 
have  had  an  attack  of  nerves,  only  she  knew  there  was  no  time 
for  it ;  and  I  do  believe  that  twenty  minutes  were  scarcely  ovei 
her  head,  as  the  saying  is,  when  her  bonnet  and  cloak  were  on, 
and  with  her  whole  suite,  and  an  inn-waiter  or  two  whom  she 
pressed  into  her  service,  she  was  on  full  trot  to  the  field  of 
action.  For  twenty  years  before,  and  from  that  to  this,  Ma- 
rianne Carrickfergus  never  had  or  has  walked  so  quickly. 


"  Hullo,  here'th  a  go  !  ''  exclaimed  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars. 
as  they  arrived  on  the  ground  behind  the  Windmill ;  "  cuth  me 
there'th  only  one  man  !  '' 

This  was  indeed  the  case  ;  Mr.  Fitch,  in  his  great  cloak, 
was  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  grass,  his  shadow  stretch- 
ing far  in  the  sunshine.  Mr.  Fitch  was  alone  too  ;  for  the 
fact  is,  he  had  never  thought  about  a  second.  This  he  admitted 
frankly,  bowing  with  much  majesty  to  the  company  as  they 
came  up.  "  But  that,  gents,"  said  he,  "  will  make  no  difference, 
I  hope,  nor  prevent  fair  play  from  being  done."  And,  flinging 
off  his  cloak,  he  produced  the  foils,  froin  which  the  buttons  had 
been  taken  off.  He  went  up  to  Brandon,  and  was  for  offering 
him  one  of  the  weapons,  just  as  they  do  at  the  theatre.  Bran- 
don stepped  back,  rather  abashed  :  Cinqbars  looked  posed  ; 
Tufthunt  delighted.  "Ecod,"  said  he,  "I  hope  the  bearded 
fellow  will  give  it  him." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brandon;  "as  the  challenged 
party,  I  demand  pistols." 

Mr.  Fitch,  with  great  presence  of  miod  and  gracefulness, 
stuck  the  swords  into  the  grass. 

"  Oh,  pithtolth  of  courth,"  lisped  my  lord  ;  and  presently 
called  aside  Tufthunt,  to  whom  he  whispered  something  in 
great  glee  ;  to  which  Tufthunt  objected  at  first,  saying,  "  No, 

d him,  let  him  fight."     "  And  your  fellowship  and  li\ing, 

Tufty  my  boy  ? "  interposed  my  lord  \  and  then  they  walked 
on.  After  a  couple  of  minutes,  during  which  Mr.  Fitch  was 
employed  in  examining  Mr.  Brandon  from  the  toe  upwards  to 
the  crown  of  his  head,  or  hat,  just  as  Mr.  Widdicombe  does 
Mr.  Cartlich,  before  those  two  gentlemen  proceed  to  join  in 
combat  on  the  boards  of  Astley's  Amphitheatre  (indeed  poor 
Fitch  had  no  other  standard  of  chivalry) — when  Fitch  had  con- 
cluded this  examniation,  of  which  Brandon  did  not  know  what 


fj2  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

the  deuce  to  make,  Lord  Cinqbars  came  back  to  the  painter, 
and  gave  him  a  nod. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  as  you  have  come  unprovided  with  a 
second,  I,  with  your  leave,  will  act  as  one.  My  name  is  Cinq- 
bars— Lord  Cinqbars  ;  and  though  I  had  come  to  the  ground 
to  act  as  the  friend  of  my  friend  here,  Mr.  Tufthunt  will  take 
that  duty  upon  him  ;  and  as  it  appears  to  me  there  can  be  no 
other  end  to  this  unhappy  affair,  we  will  proceed  at  once." 

It  is  a  marvel  how  Lord  Cinqbars  ever  made  such  a  gentle- 
manly speech.  When  Fitch  heard  that  he  was  to  have  a  lord 
for  a  second,  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  chest,  and  vowed  it  was 
the  greatest  h-honor  of  his  life,  and  was  turning  round  to  walk 
towards  his  ground,  when  my  lord,  gracefully  thrusting  his 
tongue  into  his  cheek,  and  bringing  his  thumb  up  to  his  nose, 
twiddled  about  his  fingers  for  a  moment,  and  said  to  Brandon, 
"  Gammon  !  " 

Mr.  Brandon  smiled,  and  heaved  a  great,  deep,  refreshing 
sigh.  The  truth  was,  a  great  load  was  taken  off  his  mind,  of 
which  he  was  very  glad  to  be  rid  ;  for  there  was  something  in 
the  coolneH  of  that  crazy  painter  that  our  fashionable  gentle- 
man did  not  at  all  approve  of. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Tufthunt,"  said  Lord  Cinqbars,  very  loud, 
"  that  considering  the  gravity  of  the  case — threatening  horse- 
whipping, you  know,  lie  on  both  sides,  and  lady  in  the  case — I 
think  we  must  have  the  barrier-duel." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  Fitch. 

"  The  simplest  thing  in  the  world  ;  and,"  in  a  whisper,  ''  let 
me  add,  the  best  for  you.  Look  here.  We  shall  put  you  at 
twenty  paces,  and  a  hat  between  you.  You  walk  forward  and 
fire  when  you  like.  When  you  fire,  you  stop  ;  and  you  both 
have  the  liberty  of  walking  up  to  the  hat.  Nothing  can  be 
more  fair  than  that." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Fitch  ;  and,  with  a  great  deal  of  prepa- 
ration, the  pistols  were  loaded, 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  whispered  Cinqbars  to  Fitch,  "if  1  hadn't 
chosen  this  way  you  were  a  dead  man.  If  he  fires  he  hits  you 
dead.     You  must  not  let  him  fire,  but  have  him  down  first." 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Fitch,  who  was  a  little  pale,  and  thanked  his 
noble  friend  for  his  counsel.  The  hat  was  placed  and  the  men 
took  their  places. 

"  Are  you  all  ready  ?  " 

"  Ready,"  said  Brandon, 

"  Advance  when  I  drop  my  handkerchief.  And  presently 
down  it  felh  Lord  Cinqbars  crying,  "  Now  !  " 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY.  93 

The  combatants  both  advanced,  each  covering  his  man. 
When  he  had  gone  six  paces,  Fitch  stopped,  fired,  and — missed. 
He  grasped  his  pistol  tightly,  for  he  was  very  near  dropping  it ; 
and  then  stood  biting  his' lips,  and  looking  at  Brandon,  who 
grinned  savagely,  and  walked  up  to  the  hat. 

"  Will  you  retract  what  you  said  of  me  yesterday,  you 
villain  ?  "  said  Brandon. 

"  I  can't." 

"  Will  you  beg  for  life  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  take  a  minute,  and  make  your  peace  with  God,  for 
you  are  a  dead  man." 

Fitch  dropped  his  pistol  to  the  ground,  shut  his  eyes  for  a 
moment,  and  flinging  up  his  chest  and  clenching  his  fists,  said, 
"■Now  r?n  ready. '' 

Brandon  yfr^^?— and  strange  to  say,  Andrea  Fitch,  as  he 
gasped  and  staggered  backwards,  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  Mr. 
Brandon's  pistol  flying  up  in  the  air,  where  it  went  off,  and 
heard  that  gentleman  yell  out  an  immense  oath  in  a  very 
audible  voice.  When  he  came  to  himself,  a  thick  stick  was 
lying  at  Brandon's  feet ;  Mr.  Brandon  was  capering  about  the 
ground,  and  cursing  and  shaking  a  maimed  elbow,  and  a  whole 
posse  of  people  were  rushing  upon  them.  The  first  was  the 
great  German  courier,  who  rushed  upon  that  gentleman,  and 
shouted,  "  Schelm  !  spitzbube  !  blagard!  goward  !  "  in  his  ear. 
"  If  I  had  not  drown  my  stick  and  brogen  his  damt  arm,  he 
wod  have  murdered  dat  boor  young  man." 

The  German's  speech  contained  two  unfounded  assertions  ; 
in  the  first  place  Brandon  would  not  have  murdered  Fitch  ;  and, 
secondly,  his  arm  was  not  broken — he  had  merely  received  a 
blow  on  that  part  which  anatomists  call  the  funny-bone  :  a 
severe  blow,  which  sent  the  pistol  spinning  into  the  air,  and 
caused  the  gentleman  to  scream  with  pain.  Two  waiters  seized 
upon  the  murderer,  too  ;  a  baker,  who  had  been  brought  from 
his  rounds,  a  bellman,  several  boys, — were  yelling  round  him, 
and  shouting  out,  "  Pole-e-eace  !  " 

Next  to  these  came,  panting  and  blowing,  some  women. 
Could  Fitch  believe  his  eyes  ? — that  fat  woman  in  red  satin  ! — 
yes — no — yes — he  was,  he  was  in  the   arms  of  Mrs.  Carrick- 

fergus ! 

******* 

The  particulars  of  this  meeting  are  too  delicate  to  relate. 
Suffice  it  that  somehow  matters  were  explained,  Mr.  Bran- 
don was  let  loose,  and  a  fly  was  presently  seen  to  drive  u].- 


g^  A  SHABBY  GEXTEEI.  STORY. 

into  which  Mr.  Fitch  consented  to  enter  with  his  new-found 
friend. 

Brandon  had  some  good  movements  in  him.  As  Fitch  was 
getting  into  the  carriage,  he  walked  up  to  him,  and  held  out  his 
left  liand  :  "  1  can't  offer  you  my  right  hand,  Mr.  Fitch,  for  that 
cursed  courier's  stick  has  maimed  it ;  but  I  hope  you  will  allow 
me  to  apologize  for  my  shameful  conduct  to  you,  and  to  say  that 
I  never  in  my  life  met  a  more  gallant  fellow  than  yourself." 

"  That  he  is,  by  Jove  !  "  said  my  Lord  Cinqbars. 

Fitch  blushed  as  red  as  a  peony,  and  trembled  very  much. 
"  And  yet,"  said  he,  "  you  would  have  murdered  me  just  now, 
Mr.  Brandon.     I  can't  take  your  'and,  sir." 

"Why,  you  great  fiat,"  said  my  lord  wisely,  "  lie  couldn't 
have  hurt  you,  nor  you  him.  There  wath  no  ballth  in  the 
pithtolth." 

"  What,"  said  Fitch,  starting  back,  "  do  you  gents  call  that  a 
joke  ?  Oh,  my  lord,  my  lord  !  "  And  here  poor  Fitch  actually 
burst  into  tears  on  the  red  satin  bosom  of  Mrs.  Carrickfergus : 
she  and  Miss  Runt  were  crying  as  hard  as  they  could.  And  so, 
amidst  much  shouting  and  huzzaing,  the  fly  drove  away. 

"What  a  blubbering,  abthurd  donkey  !  "  said  Cinqbars,  with 
his  usual  judgment ;  "  ain't  he,  Tufthunt  ?  " 

Tufthunt,  of  course,  said  yes  ;  but  Brandon  was  in  a  vir- 
tuous mood.  "  By  heavens  !  1  think  his  tears  do  the  man 
honor.  When  I  came  out  with  him  this  morning,  I  intended  to 
act  fairly  by  him.  And  as  for  Mr.  Tufthunt,  who  calls  a  man 
a  coward  because  he  cries — Mr.  Tufthunt  knows  well  what  a 
pistol  is,  and  that  some  men  don't  care  to  face  it,  brave 
as  they  are." 

Mr.  Tufthunt  understood  the  hint,  and  bit  his  lips  and 
walked  on.  And  as  for  that  worthy  moralist,  Mr.  Brandon,  I 
am  happy  to  say  that  there  was  some  good  fortune  in  store  for 
him,  wiiich,  though  similar  in  kind  to  that  bestowed  lately  upon 
Mr.  Fitch,  was  superior  in  degree. 

It  was  no  other  than  this,  that  forgetting  all  maidenly  de- 
cency and  decorum,  before  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars  and  liis 
friend,  that  silly  little  creature,  Caroline  Gann,  rushed  out  from 
the  parlor  into  the  passage — she  had  been  at  the  window  ever 
since  she  was  rid  of  her  fainting  fit !  and  ah  !  what  agonies  of 
fear  had  that  little  panting  heart  endured  during  the  half-liour 
of  her  lover's  absence  ! — Caroline  Gann,  I  say,  rushed  into  the 
passage,  and  leaped  upon  the  neck  of  Brandon,  and  kissed  him, 
and  called  him  her  dear,  dear,  dear,  darling  George,  and  sobbed, 
and  laughed,  until  George,  taking  her  round  the  waist  gently, 


A  S//ABBV  GENTEEL  STORY. 


95 


carried  her  into  the  little  dingy  parlor,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him." 

'' Egad,"  cried  Cinqbars,  "  this  is  quite  a  thene !  Hullo, 
Becky,  Polly,  what's  your  name  ? — bring  uth  up  the  breakfatht ; 
and  1  hope  you've  remembered  the  thoda-water.  Come  along 
up  thtairth.  Tufty  my  boy." 

When  Brandon  came  up  stairs  and  joined  them,  which  he  did 
\\\  a  minute  or  two,  consigning  Caroline  to  Becky's  care,  his 
eyes  were  full  of  tears  ;  and  when  Cinqbars  began  to  rally  him 
in  his  usual  delicate  way,  Brandon  said  gravely,  "  No  laughing, 
sir,  if  you  please  ;  for  I  swear  that  that  lady  before  long  shall 
be  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife  ! — and  what  will  your  father  say,  and  what  will 
your  duns  say,  and  what  will  Miss  Goldmore  say,  with  her 
hundred  thousand  pounds  t  "  cried  Cinqbars. 

"  Miss  Goldmore  be  hanged,"  said  Brandon,  "  and  the  duns 
too  ;  and  my  father  may  reconcile  it  to  himself  as  he  can." 
And  here  Brandon  fell  into  a  reverie. 

"  It's  no  use  thinking,"  he  cried,  after  a  pause.  "  You  see 
what  a  girl  it  is,  Cinqbars.  I  love  her — by  heavens,  I'm  mad 
with  love  for  her !  She  shall  be  mine,  let  what  will  come  of  it. 
And  besides,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone  of  voice,  "  why  need 
my  father  know  anything  about  it .''  " 

"O  flames  and  furies,  what  a  lover  it  is  !  "  exclaimed  his 
friend.  "  But,  by  Jove,  I  like  your  spirit ;  and  hang  all  Gov- 
ernors says  I.  Stop — a  bright  thought  !  If  you  must  marry, 
why  here's  Tom  Tufthunt,  the  very  man  to  do  your  business." 
Little  Lord  Cinqbars  was  delighted  with  the  excitement  of  the 
afifair,  and  thought  to  himself,  "  By  Jove,  this  is  an  intrigue." 

"  What,  is  Tufthunt  in  orders  ?  "  said  Brandon. 

"Yes,"  replied  that  reverend  gentleman:  "don't  you  see 
my  coat  t  I  took  orders  six  weeks  ago,  on  my  fellowship. 
Cinqbars'  governor  has  promised  me  a  living." 

"  And  you  shall  marry  George  here,  so  you  shall." 

"  What,  without  a  licence  ?  " 

"  Hang  the  licence  ! — we  won't  peach,  will  we,  George  ? 

"  Her  family  must  know  nothing  of  it,"  said  George,  "  o\ 
they  would." 

"  Why  should  they  .'  Why  shouldn't  Tom  marry  you  in  this 
very  room,  without  any  church  or  stuff  at  all  ?  " 

Tom  said  :  "  You'll  hold  me  out,  my  lord,  if  anything  comes 
of  it  ;  and,  if  Brandon  likes,  why,  1  will.  He's  done  for  if  he 
does,"  muttered  Tufthunt,  "  and  I  have  had  my  revenge  on  him, 
the  bullying,  supercilious  blacklee"." 


g6  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 

***** 

And  so  on  that  very  day,  in  Brandon's  room,  without  a 
Jicense,  and  by  that  worthy  clergyman  the  Rev.  Thomas  Tuft- 
hunt,  with  my  Lord  Cinqbars  for  the  sole  witness,  poor  Caroline 
Gann,  who  knew  no  better,  who  never  heard  of  licences,  and 
did  not  know  what  banns  meant,  was  married  in  a  manner  to 
the  person  calling  himself  George  Brandon  ;  George  Brandon 
not  being  his  real  name. 

No  writings  at  all  were  made,  and  the  ceremony  merely  read 
through.  Becky,  Caroline's  sole  guardian,  when  the  poor  girl 
kissed  her,  and,  blushing,  showed  her  gold  ring,  thought  all  was 
in  order  :  and  the  happy  couple  set  off  for  Dover  that  day,  with 
fifty  pounds  which  Cinqbars  lent  the  bridegroom. 

Becky  received  a  little  letter  from  Caroline,  which  she 
promised  to  carry  to  her  mamma  at  Swigby's  :  and  it  was 
agreed  that  she  was  to  give  warning,  and  come  and  live  with  her 
young  lady.  Next  morning  Lord  Cinqbars  and  Tufthunt  took 
the  boat  for  London  ;  the  latter  uneasy  in  mind,  the  former 
vowing  that  ''  he'd  never  spent  such  an  exciting  day  in  his  life, 
and  loved  an  intrigue  of  all  things." 

Next  morning,  too,  the  great  travelling-chariot  of  Mrs. 
Carrickfergus  rolled  away  with  a  bearded  gentleman  inside. 
Poor  Fitch  had  been  back  to  his  lodgings  to  try  one  more 
chance  with  Caroline,  and  he  arrived  in  time — to  see  her  get 
into  a  post-chaise  alone  with  Brandon. 

Six  weeks  afterwards  Galignani's  Messenger  contained  the 
following  announcement  : — 

"Married,  at  the  British  embassy,  by  Bishop  Luscoinbe,  Andrew  Fitch,  Esq.,  to  Mari- 
anne Caroline  Matilda,  widow  of  the  late  Antony  Carrickfergus,  of  Lombard  Street  and 
Gloucester  Place,  Esquire.  The  happy  pair,  after  a  magnificent  dejeunf,  set  off  for  the 
south  in  their  splendid  carriage-and-four.  Miss  Runt  officiated  as  bride's-maid  ;  and  we 
remarked  among  the  company  liarl  and  Countess  Crabs,  General  Sir  R'ce  Curry,  K.C.B., 
Colonel  Wapshot,  Sir  Charles  Swang,  the  Hon-  Algernon  Percy  Deuceace  and  his  lady. 
Count  Punter,  and  others  of  the  elite  of  the  fashionables  now  in  Paris.  The  bridegrofim 
was  attended  by  his  friend  Michael  Angelo  Titmarsh,  Esquire ;  and  the  lady  was  given 
away  by  the  Right  Hon.  the  Karl  of  Crabs.  On  the  departure  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
the  festivities  were  resumed,  and  many  a  sparkling  bumper  of  Meurice's  champagne  was 
quaffed  to  the  health  of  tlie  hospitable  and  interesting  couple." 

And  with  one  more  marriage  this  chapter  shall  conclude. 
About  this  time  the  British  Auxiliary  Legion  came  home  from 
Spain  ;  and  Lieut.-General  Swabber,  a  knight  of  San  Fernando, 
of  the  order  of  Isabella  the  Catholic,  of  the  Tower  and  Sword, 
who,  as  plain  Lieutenant  Swabber,  had  loved  Miss  Isabella 
Macarty,  as  a  general  now  actually  married  her.  I  leave  you  to 
suppose  how  glorious  Mrs.  Gann  was.  and  how  Gann  got  tipsy 
at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails ; "  but  as  her  daughters  each  insisted  upon 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY. 


97 


their  30/.  a  year  income,  and  Mrs.  Gann  had  so  only  60/.  left, 
she  was  obliged  still  to  continue  the  lodging-house  at  Margate, 
in  which  have  occurred  the  most  interesting  passages  of  this 

SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY. 

Becky  never  went  to  her  young  mistress,  who  was  not  heard 
of  after  she  wrote  the  letter  to  her  parent,  saying  that  she  was 
married  to  Mr.  Brandon  ;  but,  for  particular  reasons,  her  dear 
husband  wished  to  keep  his  marriage  secret,  and  for  the  present 
her  beloved  parents  must  be  content  to  know  she  was  happy. 
Gann  missed  his  little  Carry  at  first  a  good  deal,  but  spent  more 
and  more  of  his  time  at  the  ale-house,  as  his  house  with  only 
Mrs.  Gann  in  it  was  too  hot  for  him.  Mrs.  Gann  talked  un- 
ceasingly of  her  daughter  the  squire's  lady,  and  her  daughter 
the  general's  wife  ;  but  never  once  mentioned  Caroline  after  the 
first  burst  of  wonder  and  wrath  at  her  departure. 

God  bless  thee,  poor  Caroline  !  Thou  art  happy  now,  for 
some  short  space  at  least;  and  here,  therefore,  let  us  leave 
thee. 


THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

ON  HIS    WAY  THROUGH   THE    WORLD; 

SHOWING 

WHO    ROBBED    HIM,    WHO    HELPED    HIM.    AND    WHO 
PASSED    HIM    BY. 


(n> 


TO 

M.    I.    HIGGINS, 

IN    GRATEFUL    REMEMBRANCE    OF    OLD    FRIENDSHIP    AND 
KINDNESS. 

Kensington,  July,  1S62. 


(IM) 


THE 

ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DOCTOR     FELL. 


'  "  Not  attend  her  own  son  when  he  is  ill !  "  said  my  mother. 
"  She  does  not  deserve  to  have  a  son  !  "  And  Mrs.  Pendennis 
looked  towards  her  own  only  darling  whilst  uttering  this  indig- 
nant exclamation.  As  she  looked,  I  know  what  passed  through 
her  mind.  She  nursed  me,  she  dressed  me  in  little  caps  and 
long-clothes,  she  attired  me  in  my  first  jacket  and  trousers. 
She  watched  at  my  bedside  through  my  infantile  and  juvenile 
ailments.  She  tended  me  through  all  my  life,  she  held  me  to 
her  heart  with  infinite  prayers  and  blessings.  She  is  no  longer 
with  us  to  bless  and  pray ;  but  from  heaven,  where  she  is,  I 
know  her  love  pursues  me ;  and  often  and  often  I  think  she  is 
here,  only  invisible. 

"  Mrs.  Firmin  would  be  of  no  good,"  growled  Dr.  Good- 
enough.  "  She  would  have  hysterics,  and  the  nurse  would  have 
two  patients  to  look  after." 

"  Don't  tell  w<r,"  cries  my  mother,  with  a  flush  on  her  cheeks. 
"  Do  you  suppose  if  that  child  "  (meaning,  of  course,  her  para- 
gon) "  were  ill,  I  would  not  go  to  him  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  if  that  child  were  hungry,  you  would  chop  off 
your  head  to  make  him  broth,"  says  the  doctor,  sipping  his  tea. 

"  Potage  dj  la  bonne  fe?}wie,'"  says  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Mother, 
we  have  it  at  the  club.  You  would  be  done  with  milk,  eggs, 
and  a  quantity  of  vegetables.  You  would  be  put  to  simmer  for 
many  hours  in  an  earthen  pan,  and " 

"  Don't  be  horrible,  Arthur  !  "  cries  a  young  lady,  who  was 
my  mother's  companion  of  those  happy  days. 


102  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  And  people  when  they  knew  you  would  like  you  very 
much." 

My  uncle  looked  as  if  he  did  not  understand  the  allegory. 

"  What  is  this  you  are  talking  about  ?  potage  ci  la — what 
d'ye-call-'im  ?  "  says  he.  "  I  thought  we  were  speaking  of  Mrs. 
Firmin,  of  Old  Parr  Street.  Mrs.  Firmin  is  a  doosid  delicate 
woman,"  interposed  the  Major.  "  All  the  females  of  that 
family  are.  Her  mother  died  early.  Her  sister,  Mrs.  Twys- 
den,  is  very  delicate.  She  would  be  of  no  more  use  in  a  sick- 
room than  a — than  a  bull  in  a  china-shop,  begad  !  and  she 
might  catch  the  fever,  too." 

"  And  so  might  you.  Major  !  "  cries  the  doctor.  "  Aren't 
you  talking  to  me,  who  have  just  come  from  the  boy .-'  Keep 
your  distance,  or  I  shall  bite  you." 

The  old  gentleman  gave  a  little  backward  movement  with 
his  chair. 

"  Gad,  it's  no  joking  matter,"  says  he  ;  "  I've  known  fellows 
catch  fevers  at — at  ever  so  much  past  my  age.  At  any  rate, 
the  boy  is  no  boy  of  mine,  begad  !  I  dine  at  Firmin's  house, 
who  has  married  into  a  good  family,  though  he  is  only  a  doctor 
and " 

"  And  pray  what  was  my  husband  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Pendennis. 

"  Only  a  doctor,  indeed  !  "  calls  out  Goodenough.  "  My 
dear  creature,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  give  him  the  scarjet  fever 
this  minute  !  " 

"  My  father  was  a  surgeon  and  apothecary,  I  have  heard," 
says  the  widow's  son. 

"  And  what  then  ?  And  I  should  like  to  know  if  a  man  of 
one  of  the  most  ancient  families  in  the  kingdom — in  the  empire, 
begad  ! — hasn't  a  right  to  pursoo  a  learned,  a  useful,  an  honor- 
able profession.     My  brother  John  was " 

''  A  medical  practitioner  !  "  I  say,  with  a  sigh. 

And  my  uncle  arranges  his  hair,  puts  his  handkerchief  to 
his  teeth,  and  says — 

"  Stuff  !  nonsense — no  patience  with  these  personalities, 
begad  !  Firmin  is  a  doctor,  certainly — so  are  you — so  are 
others.  But  Firmin  is  a  university  man,  and  a  gentleman. 
Firmin  has  travelled.  Firmin  is  intimate  with  some  of  the 
best  people  in  England,  and  has  married  into  one  of  the  first 
families.  Gad,  sir,  do  you  suppose  that  a  woman  bred  up  in 
the  lap  of  luxury — in  the  very  lap,  sir — at  Ringwood  and 
Whipham,  and  at  Ringwood  House  in  Walpole  Street,  where 
she  was  absolute  mistress,  begad — do  you  suppose  such  a 
woman  is  fit  to  be  nurse  tender  in  a  sick-room  ?     She  never  was 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


'"^l 


fit  for  that,  or  for  anything  except — "  (here  the  Major  saw 
smiles  on  the  countenances  of  some  of  his  audience) — "  except, 
I  say,  to  preside  at  Ringwood  House  and — and  adorn  society, 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  And  if  such  a  woman  chooses  to  run 
away  with  her  uncle's  doctor,  and  marry  below  her  rank — why, 
/don't  think  it's  a  laughing  matter,  hang  me  if  I  do." 

"  And  so  she  stops  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  whilst  the  poor 
boy  remains  at  school,"  sighs  my  mother. 

"  Firmin  can't  come  away.  He  is  in  attendance  on  the 
Grand  Dook,  The  prince  is  never  easy  without  Firmin.  He 
has  given  him  his  Order  of  the  Swan.  They  are  moving 
heaven  and  earth  in  high  quarters  ;  and  I  bet  you  even.  Good- 
enough,  that  that  boy  whom  you  have  been  attending  will  be  a 
baronet — if  you  don't  kill  him  off  with  your  confounded 
potions  and  pills,  begad  !  " 

Dr.  Goodenough  only  gave  a  humph  and  contracted  his 
great  eyebrows. 

My  uncle  continued — 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  Firmin  is  a  gentlemanly  man — a 
handsome  man.  I  remember  his  father.  Brand  Firmin,  at 
Valenciennes  with  the  Dook  of  York — one  of  the  handsomest 
men  in  Europe.  Firebrand  Firmin  they  used  to  call  him — a 
red-headed  fellow — a  tremendous  duellist  :  shot  an  Irishman — 
became  serious  in  after  life,  and  that  sort  of  thing — quarrelled 
with  his  son,  who  was  doosid  w'ild  in  early  days.  Gentlemanly 
man,  certainly,  Firmin.  Black  hair :  his  father  had  red.  So 
much  the  better  for  the  doctor  ;  but — but — we  understand  each 
other,  I  think,  Goodenough  ?  and  you  and  I  have  seen  some 
queer  fishes  in  our  time." 

And  the  old  gentleman  winked  and  took  his  snuff  graciously, 
and,  as  it  were,  puffed  the  Firmin  subject  away. 

"  Was  it  to  show  me  a  queer  fish  that  you  took  me  to  Dr. 
Firmin's  house  in  Parr  Street  ? "  asked  Mr.  Pendennis  of  his 
uncle.  "  The  house  was  not  very  gay,  nor  the  mistress  very 
wise,  but  they  were  all  as  kind  as  might  be  ;  and  I  am  very 
fond  of  the  boy." 

"  So  did  Lord  Ringwood,  his  mother's  uncle,  like  him," 
cried  Major  Pendennis.  "  That  boy  brought  about  a  reconcilia- 
tion between  his  mother  and  his  uncle,  after  her  runaway  match. 
I  suppose  you  know  she  ran  away  with  Firmin,  my  dear  ?" 

My  mother  said  "  she  had  heard  something  of  the  story." 
And  the  major  once  more  asserted  that  Dr.  Firmin  was  a  wild 
fellow  twenty  years  ago.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing  he 
was  Physician  to  the  Plethoric  Hospital,  Physician  to  the  Grand 


I04  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PITILIP 

Duke  of  Groningen,  and  knight  of  his  order  of  the  Black  Sv  an, 
member  of  many  learned  societies,  the  husband  of  a  rich  wife 
and  a  person    of  no  small  consideration. 

As  for  his  son,  whose  name  figures  at  the  head  of  these 
pages,  you  may  suppose  he  did  not  die  of  the  illness  about  which 
we  had  just  been  talking.  A  good  nurse  waited  on  him,  though 
his  mamma  was  in  the  country.  Though  his  papa  was  absent, 
a  very  competent  physician  was  found  to  take  charge  of  the 
young  patient,  and  preserve  his  life  for  the  benefit  of  his  family, 
and  the  purposes  of  this  history. 

We  pursued  our  talk  about  Philip  Firmin  and  his  father,  and 
his  grand-uncle  the  Earl,  whom  Major  Pendennis  knew  in- 
timately well,  untill  Dr.  Goodenough's  carriage  was  announced, 
and  our  kind  physican  took  leave  of  us,  and  drove  back  to  Lon- 
don. Some  who  spoke  on  that  summer  evening  are  no  longer 
here  to  speak  or  listen.  Some  who  were  young  then  have 
topped  the  hill  and  are  descending  towards  the  valley  of  the 
shadows.  "  Ah,"  says  old  Major  Pendennis,  shaking  his  brown 
curls,  as  the  Doctor  went  away  ;  "  did  you  see,  my  good  soul, 
when  I  spoke  about  his  confrere,  how  glum  Goodenough  looked  ? 
They  don't  love  each  other,  my  dear.  Two  of  a  trade  don't 
agree,  and  besides  I  have  no  doubt  the  other  doctor-fellows  are 
jealous  of  Firmin,  because  he  lives  in  the  best  society.  A  man  of 
good  family,  my  dear.  There  has  already  been  a  great  7-approche- 
ment ;  and  if  Lord  Ringwood  is  quite  reconciled  to  him,  there's 
no  knowing  what  luck  that  boy  of  Firmin's  may  come  to." 

Although  Dr.  Goodenough  might  think  but  lightly  of  his 
cofifrere,  a  great  portion  of  the  public  held  him  in  much  higher 
estimation :  and  especially  in  the  little  community  of  Grey 
Friars,  of  which  the  kind  reader  has  heard  in  previous  works 
of  the  present  biographer,  Dr.  Brand  Firmin  was  a  very  great 
favorite,  and  received  with  much  respect  and  honor.  When- 
ever the  boys  at  school  were  afflicted  with  the  common  ailments 
of  youth,  Mr.  Spratt,  the  school  apothecary,  provided  for  them  ; 
and  by  the  simple,  though  disgusting  remedies  which  were  in 
use  in  those  times,  generally  succeeded  in  restoring  his  young 
patients  to  health.  But  if  young  Lord  Egham  (the  Marquis  of 
Ascot's  son,  as  my  respected  reader  very  likely  knows)  hap- 
pened to  be  unwell,  as  was  frequently  the  case,  from  his  lord- 
."hip's  great  command  of  pocket-money  and  imprudent  fondness 
for  the  contents  of  the  pastrj-cook's  shop  ;  or  if  any  very  grave 
case  of  illness  occurred  in  the  school,  then,  quick,  the  famous 
Dr.  Firmin,  of  Old  Parr  Street,  Burlington  Gardens,  was  sent 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


^OS 


for ;  and  an  illness  must  have  been  very  severe,  if  he  could  not 
cure  it.  Dr.  Firmin  had  been  a  school-fellow,  and  remained  a 
special  friend  of  the  head-master.  When  young  Lord  Egham, 
before  mentioned,  (he  was  our  only  lord,  and  therefore  we 
were  a  little  proud  and  careful  of  our  darling  youth,)  got  the 
erysipelas,  which  swelled  his  head  to  the  size  of  a  pumpkin,  the 
doctor  triumphantly  carried  him  through  his  illness,  and  was 
comjDlimented  by  the  head-boy  in  his  Latin  oration  on  the  an- 
nual speech-day  for  his  superhuman  skill  and  godlike  delight 
salutem  /w?ninihi/s  da?ido.  The  head-master  turned  towards 
Dr.  Firmin,  and  bowed  :  the  governors  and  bigwigs  buzzed  to 
one  another,  and  looked  at  him  :  the  boys  looked  at  him  :  the 
physician  held  his  handsome  head  down  towards  his  shirt-frill. 
His  modest  eyes  would  not  look  up  from  the  spotless  lining  of 
the  broad-brimmed  hat  on  his  knees.  A  murmur  of  applause 
hummed  through  the  ancient  hall,  a  scuffling  of  young  feet,  a 
rustling  of  new  cassocks  among  the  masters,  and  a  refreshing 
blowing  of  noses  ensued,  as  the  orator  polished  off  his  period, 
and  then  passed  to  some  other  theme. 

Amidst  the  general  enthusiasm,  there  was  one  member  of 
the  auditory  scornful  and  dissentient.  This  gentleman  whis- 
pered to  his  comrade  at  the  commencement  of  the  phrase  con- 
cerning the  doctor  the,  I  believe  of  Eastern  derivation,  mono- 
syllable "  Bosh  !  "  and  he  added  sadly,  looking  towards  the 
object  of  all  his  praise,  "He  can't  construe  the  Latin — though 
it  is  all  a  parcel  of  humbug." 

"  Hush,  Phil ! "  said  his  friend ;  and  Phil's  face  flushed 
red,  as  Dr.  Firmin,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  looked  at  him  for  one 
noment ;  for  the  recipient  of  all  this  laudation  was  no  other 
^han  Phil's  father. 

The  illness  of  which  we  spoke  had  long  since  passed  away. 
Philip  was  a  schoolboy  no  longer,  but  in  his  second  year  at  the 
university,  and  one  of  half-a-dozen  young  men,  ex-pupils  of  the 
school,  who  had  come  up  for  the  annual  dinner.  The  honors 
of  this  year's  dinner  were  for  Dr.  Firmin,  even  more  than  for 
Lord  Ascot  in  his  star  and  ribbon,  who  walked  with  his  arm  in 
the  doctor's  into  chapel.  His  lordship  faltered  when,  in  his 
after-dinner  speech,  he  alluded  to  the  inestimable  services  and 
skill  of  his  tried  old  friend,  whom  he  had  known  as  a  fellow- 
pupil  in  those  walls — (loud  cheers) — whose  friendship  had  been 
the  delight  of  his  life — a  friendship  which  he  prayed  might  be 
the  inheritance  of  their  children.  (Immense  applause  ;  after 
which  Dr.  Firmin  spoke.) 

The  Doctor's  speech  was  perhaps  a  little  commonplace  ; 


Io6  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

the  Latin  quotations  which  he  used  were  not  exactly  novel ; 
but  Phil  need  not  have  been  so  angry  or  ill-behaved.  He  went 
on  sipping  sherry,  glaring  at  his  father,  and  muttering  obser- 
vations that  were  anything  but  complimentary  to  his  parent. 
I'  Now  look,"  says  he,  "  he  is  going  to  be  overcome  by  his  feel- 
ings. He  will  put  his  handkerchief  up  to  his  mouth,  and  show 
his  diamond  ring.  I  told  you  so  !  It's  too  much.  I  can't 
swallow  this  =*  *  *  this  sherry.  I  say,  you  fellows,  let  us 
come  out  of  this,  and  have  a  smoke  somewhere."  And  Phil 
rose  up  and  quitted  the  dining-room,  just  as  his  father  was 
declaring  what  a  joy,  and  a  pride,  and  a  delight  it  was  to  him 
to  think  that  the  friendship  which  his  noble  friend  honored 
him  was  likely  to  be  transmitted  to  their  children,  and  that 
when  he  had  passed  away  from  this  earthly  scene  (cries  of 
"No,  no  !  "  "  May  you  live  a  thousand  years  !  ")  it  would  be 
his  joy  to  think  that  his  son  would  always  find  a  friend  and  pro- 
tector in  the  noble,  the  princely  house  of  Ascot. 

We  found  the  carriages  waiting  outside  Grey  Friars'  Gate, 
and  Philip  Firman,  pushing  me  into  his  father's,  told  the  foot- 
man to  drive  home,  and  that  the  doctor  would  return  in  Lord 
Ascot's  carriage.  Home  then  to  Old  Parr  Street  we  went, 
where  many  a  time  as  a  boy  I  had  been  welcome.  And  we 
retired  to  Phil's  private  den  in  the  back  buildings  of  the  gieat 
house  :  and  over  our  cigars  we  talked  of  the  Founder's-day 
Feast,  and  the  speeches  delivered ;  and  of  the  old  Cistercians 
of  our  time,  and  how  Thompson  was  married,  and  Johnson  was 
in  the  army,  and  Jackson  (not  red-haired  Jackson,  pig-eyed 
Jackson,)  was  first  in  his  year,  and  so  forth  ;  and  in  this  twaddle 
were  most  happily  engaged,  when  Phil's  father  flung  open  the 
tall  door  of  the  study.  ' 

"  Here's  the  governor  !  "  growled  Phil ;  and  in  an  undertone, 
"  What  does  he  want  ?  " 

"The  governor,"  as  I  looked  up,  was  not  a  pleasant  object 
to  behold.  Dr.  Firmin  had  very  white  false  teeth,  which 
perhaps  were  a  little  too  large  for  his  mouth,  and  these  grinned 
in  the  gas-light  very  fiercely.  On  his  cheeks  were  black  whisk- 
ers, and  over  his  glaring  eyes  fierce  black  eyebrows,  and  his 
bald  head  glittered  like  a  billiard-ball.  You  would  hardly  have 
known  that  he  was  the  original  of  that  melancholy  philosophic 
portrait  which  all  the  patients  admired  in  the  doctor's  waiting- 
room. 

"  I  find,  Philip,  that  you  took  my  carriage,"  said  the  father  \ 
"  and  Lord  Ascot  and  I  had  to  walk  ever  so  far  for  a  cab  !  " 

"  Hadn't  he  got  his  own  carriage  1     I  thought,  of  course,  he 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


107 


would  have  his  carriage  on  a  State-day,  and  that  you  would 
come  home  with  the  lord,"  said  Philip. 

"  I  had  promised  to  bring  him  home,  sir  !  "  said  the  father. 

"  Well,  sir,  I'm  very  sorry,"  continued  the  son,  curtly. 

"  Sorry !  "  screams  the  other. 

"  I  can't  say  any  more,  sir,  and  I  am  very  sorry,"  answers 
Phil ;  and  he  knocked  the  ash  of  his  cigar  into  the  stove. 

The  stranger  within  the  house  hardly  knew  how  to  look  on 
its  master  or  his  son.  There  was  evidently  some  dire  quarrel 
between  them.  The  old  man  glared  at  the  young  one,  who 
calmly  looked  his  father  in  the  face.  Wicked  rage  and  hate 
seemed  to  flush  from  the  doctor's  eyes,  and  anon  came  a  look 
of  wild  pitiful  supplication  towards  the  guest,  which  was  most 
painful  to  bear.  In  the  midst  of  what  dark'  family  mystery  was 
I  ?  What  meant  this  cruel  spectacle  of  the  father's  terrified 
anger,  and  the  son's  scorn? 

"  I — I  appeal  to  you,  Pendennis,"  says  the  doctor,  with  a 
choking  utterance  and  a  ghastly  face. 

"  Shall  we  begin  ab  ovo,  sir  ?  "  says  Phil.  Again  the  ghastly 
look  of  terror  comes  over  the  father's  face. 

"  I — I  promise  to  bring  one  of  the  first  noblemen  in  Eng- 
land," gasps  the  doctor,  "from  a  public  dinner,  in  my  carriage  ; 
and  my  son  takes  it,  and  leaves  me  and  Lord  Ascot  to  walk  ! — 
Is  it  fair,  Pendennis  ?  Is  it  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  to  a 
gentleman  ;   of  a  son  to  a  father  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said,  gravely,  "  nothing  can  excuse  it."  Indeed 
I  was  shocked  at  the  young  man's  obduracy  and  undutifulness. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  a  mistake  !  "  cries  Phil,  reddening.  "  I 
heard  Lord  Ascot  order  his  own  carriage  ;  I  made  no  doubt  he 
would  bring  my  father  home.  To  ride  in  a  chariot  with  a  foot- 
man behind  me,  is  no  pleasure  to  me,  and  I  would  far  rather 
have  a  Hansom  and  a  cigar.  It  was  a  blunder,  and  I  am  sorry 
for  it — there  !     And  if  I  live  to  a  hundred  I  can't  say  more." 

"  If  you  are  sorry,  Philip,"  groans  the  father,  "  it  is  enough." 
*'  You  remember,  Pendennis,  when — when  my  son  and  I  were 
not  on  this — on  this  footing,"  and  he  looked  up  for  a  moment 
at  a  picture  which  was  hanging  over  Phil's  head — a  portrait  of 
Phil's  mother  ;  the  lady  of  whom  my  own  mother  spoke,  on  that 
evening  when  we  had  talked  of  the  boy's  illness.  Both  the 
ladies  had  passed  from  the  world  now,  and  their  images  were 
but  painted  shadows  on  the  wall. 

The  father  had  accepted  an  apology,  though  the  son  had 
made  none.  I  looked  at  the  elder  Firmin's  face,  and  the  char- 
acter written  on  it.     I  remembered  such  particulars  of  his  early 


Io8  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

history  as  had  been  told  to  me ;  and  I  perfectly  recalled  that 
feeling  of  doubt  and  niisliking  which  came  over  my  mind  when 
I  first  saw  the  doctor's  handsome- face  some  few  years  pre- 
viously, when  my  uncle  first  took  me  to  the  doctor's  in  Old  Parr 
Street ;  little  Phil  being  then  a  flaxen-headed,  pretty  child,  who 
had  just  assumed  his  first  trousers,  and  I  a  fifth-form  boy  at  school. 
My  father  and  Dr.  iMrmin  were  members  of  the  medical 
profession.  They  had  been  bred  up  as  boys  at  the  same  school, 
whither  families  used  to  send  their  sons  from  generation  to 
generation,  and  long  before  people  had  ever  learned  that  the 
place  was  unwholesome.  Grey  Friars  was  smoky,  certainly  ;  I 
think  in  the  time  of  the  Plague  great  numbers  of  people  were 
buried  there.  But  had  the  school  been  situated  in  the  most 
picturesque  swamp  in  England,  the  general  health  of  the  boys 
could  not  have  been  better.  We  boys  used  to  hear  of  epidem- 
ics occurring  in  other  schools,  and  were  almost  sorry  that  they 
did  not  come  to  ours,  so  that  we  might  shut  up,  and  get  longer 
vacations.  Even  that  illness  which  subsequently  befell  Phil 
Firmin  himself  attacked  no  one  else — the  boys  all  luckily  going 
home  for  the  holidays  on  the  very  day  of  poor  Phil's  seizure ; 
but  of  this  illness  more  anon.  When  it  was  determined  that 
little  Phil  Firmin  was  to  go  to  Grey  Friars,  Phil's  father 
bethought  him  that  Major  Pendennis,  whom  he  met  in  the  world 
and  society,  had  a  nephew  at  the  place,  who  might  protect  the 
little  fellow,  and  the  Major  took  his  nephew  to  see  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Firmin  one  Sunday  after  church,  and  we  had  lunch  at  Old  Parr 
Street,  and  their  little  Phil  was  presented  to  me,  whom  I 
promised  to  take  under  my  protection.  He  was  a  simple  little 
man  ;  an  artless  child,  who  had  not  the  least  idea  of  the  dignity 
of  a  fifth-form  boy.  He  was  quite  unabashed  in  talking  to  me 
and  other  persons,  and  has  remained  so  ever  since.  He  asked 
my  uncle  how  he  came  to  have  such  odd  hair.  He  partook  freely 
of  the  delicacies  on  the  table.  I  remember  he  hit  me  with  his 
little  fist  once  or  twice,  which  liberty  at  first  struck  me  with  a 
panic  of  astonishment,  and  then  with  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous 
so  exquisitely  keen,  that  I  burst  out  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  It 
was,  you  see,  as  if  a  stranger  were  to  hit  the  Pope  in  the  ribs, 
and  call  him  "Old  boy  ;"  as  if  Jack  were  to  tweak  one  of  the 
giants  by  the  nose ;  or  Ensign  Jones  to  ask  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington to  take  wine.  I  had  a  strong  sense  of  humor,  even  in 
those  early  days,  and  enjoyed  this  joke  accordingly. 

"  Philip  !  "  cries  mamma,  "you  will  hurt  Mr.  Pendennis.' 
"  I  will  knock  him  down  !  "  shouts  Phil.     Fancy  knocking 
me  down, — me,  a  fifth-form  boy  ! 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


log 


"  The  child  is  a  perfect  Hercules,"  remarks  the  mother. 

"  He  strangled  two  snakes  in  his  cradle,"  says  the  doctor, 
looking  at  me.  (It  was  then,  as  I  remember,  I  felt  Dr.  Fell 
towards  him.) 

"  La,  Dr,  Firmin  !  "  cries  mamma,  "  I  can't  bear  snakes.  I 
remember  there  was  one  at  Rome,  when  we  were  walking  one 
day,  a  great,  large  snake,  and  I  hated  it,  and  I  cried  out,  and  I 
nearly  fainted ;  and  my  uncle  Ringwood  said  I  ought  to  like 
snakes,  for  one  might  be  an  agreeable  rattle ;  and  I  have  read 
of  them  being  charming  in  India,  and  I  dare  say  you  have,  Mr. 
Pendennis,  for  I  am  told  you  are  very  clever ;  and  I  am  not  in 
the  least ;  I  wish  I  were  ;  but  my  husband  is,  very — and  so 
Phil  will  be.  Will  you  be  a  ver}^  clever  boy,  dear  ?  He  was 
named  after  my  dear  Papa,  who  was  killed  at  Busaco  when  I 
was  quite,  quite  a  little  thing,  and  we  wore  mourning,  and  we 
went  to  live  with  my  uncle  Ringwood  afterwards  ;  but  Maria 
and  I  had  both  our  own  fortunes  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  little  thought 
I  should  marry  a  physician — la,  one  of  uncle  Ringwood's 
grooms,  I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of  marrying  him  ! — but, 
you  know,  my  husband  is  one  of  the  cleverest  men  /;/  the  world. 
Don't  tell  me, — you  are,  dearest,  and  you  know  it ;  and  when 
a  man  is  clever,  I  don't  value  his  rank  in  life  ;  no,  not  if  he  was 
that  fender ;  and  I  always  said  to  uncle  Ringwood,  '  Talent  I 
will  marry,  for  talent  I  adore  ; '  and  I  did  marry  you.  Dr.  Fir- 
min, you  know  I  did,  and  this  child  is  your  image.  And  you 
will  be  kind  to  him  at  school,"  says  the  poor  lady,  turning  to 
me,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  "for  talent  is  always  kind,  ex- 
cept uncle  Ringwood,  and  he  was  very " 

"  A  little  more  wine,  Mr.  Pendennis  ?  "  said  the  doctor — 
Dr.  Fell  still,  though  he  was  most  kind  to  me.  "  I  shall  put 
my  little  man  under  your  care,  and  I  know  you  will  keep  him 
from  harm.  I  hope  you  w'ill  do  us  the  favor  to  come  to  Parr 
Street  whenever  you  are  free.  In  my  father's  time  we  used  to 
come  home  of  a  Saturday  from  school,  and  enjoyed  going  to 
the  play."  And  the  Doctor  shook  me  cordially  by  the  hand, 
and,  I  must  say,  continued  his  kindness  to  me  as  long  as  ever 
I  knew  him.  When  we  went  away,  my  uncle  Pendennis  told 
me  many  stories  about  the  great  earl  and  family  of  Ringwood, 
and  how  Dr.  Firmin  had  made  a  match — a  match  of  the  affec- 
tions— with  this  lady,  daughter  of  Philip  Ringwood,  who  was 
killed  at  Busaco  ;  and  how  she  had  been  a  great  beauty,  and 
was  a  perfect  grande  dame  always  ;  and,  if  not  the  cleverest, 
certainly  one  of  the  kindest  and  most  amiable  women  in  the 
world. 


1 1  o  THE  A  D I  'ENTURES  OF  PJIILIP 

In  those  days  I  was  accustomed  to  receive  the  opinions  of 
my  informant  with  such  respect  that  I  at  once  accepted  this 
statement  as  authentic.  Mrs.  Firmin's  portrait,  indeed,  was 
beautiful  :  it  was  painted  by  young  Mr.  Harlowe,  that  year  he 
was  at  Rome,  and  when  in  eighteen  days  he  completed  a  copy 
of  the  "Transfiguration,"  to  the  admiration  of  all  the  Academy; 
but  I,  for  my  part,  only  remember  a  lady  weak,  and  thin,  and 
faded,  who  never  came  out  of  her  dressing-room  until  a  late 
hour  in  the  afternoon,  and  whose  superannuated  smiles  and 
grimaces  used  to  provoke  my  juvenile  sense  of  humor.  She 
used  to  kiss  Phil's  brow  !  and,  as  she  held  the  boy's  hand  in 
one  of  her  lean  ones,  would  say,  "  Who  would  suppose  such  a 
great  boy  as  that  could  be  my  son  ?  "  "  Be  kind  to  him  when 
I  am  gone,"  she  sighed  to  me,  one  Sunday  evening,  when  I  wa? 
taking  leave  of  her,  as  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  placed 
the  thin  hand  in  mine  for  the  last  time.  The  doctor,  reading 
by  the  fire,  turned  round  and  scowled  at  her  from  under  his  tall 
shining  forehead.  "You  are  nervous,  Louisa,  and  had  better 
go  to  your  room,  I  told  you  you  had,"  he  said,  abruptly. 
"  Young  gentlemen,  it  is  time  for  you  to  be  ofif  to  Grey  Friars. 
Is  the  cab  at  the  door,  Brice  ?  "  And  he  took  out  his  watch — 
his  great  shining  watch,  by  which  he  had  felt  the  pulses  of  so 
many  famous  personages,  whom  his  prodigious  skill  had  rescued 
from  disease.  And  at  parting,  Phil  flung  his  arms  round  his 
poor  mother,  and  kissed  her  under  the  glossy  curls ;  the  bor- 
rowed curls  !  and  he  looked  his  father  resolutely  in  the  face 
(whose  own  glance  used  to  fall  before  that  of  the  boy),  and 
bade  him  a  gruff  good-night,  ere  we  set  forth  for  Grey  Friars. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AT  SCHOOL  AND  AT  HOME, 


I  DINED  yesterday  with  three  gentlemen,  whose  time  of  life 
may  be  guessed  by  their  conversation,  a  great  part  of  which 
consisted  of  Eton  reminiscences  and  lively  imitations  of  Dr. 
Keate.  Each  one,  as  he  described  how  he  had  been  flogged, 
mimicked  to  the  best  of  his  power  the  manner  and  the  mode 
of  operating  of  the  famous  doctor.  His  little  parenthetical 
remarks  during  the  ceremony  were  recalled  with  great  face- 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  1 1 1 

tiousness :  the  very  hwhish  of  the  rods  were  parodied  with 
thrilling  fidelity,  and  after  a  good  hour's  conversation,  the  sub- 
ject was  brought  to  a  climax  by  a  description  of  that  awful 
night  when  the  doctor  called  up  squad  after  squad  of  boys  from 
their  beds  in  their  respective  boarding-houses,  whipped  through 
the  whole  night,  and  castigated  I  don't  know  how  many  hun- 
dred rebels.  All  these  mature  men  laughed,  prattled,  rejoiced, 
and  became  young  again,  as  they  recounted  their  stories  ;  and 
each  of  them  heartily  and  eagerly  bade  the  stranger  to  under- 
stand how  Keate  was  a  thorougla  gentleman.  Having  talked 
about  their  floggings,  I  say,  for  an  hour  at  least,  they  apologized 
to  me  for  dwelling  upon  a  subject  which  after  all  was  strictly 
local :  but,  indeed,  their  talk  greatly  amused  and  diverted  me, 
and  I  hope,  and  am  quite  ready,  to  hear  all  their  jolly  stories 
over  again. 

Be  not  angry,  patient  reader  of  former  volumes  by  the 
author  of  the  present  history,  if  I  am  garrulous  about  Grey 
Friars,  and  go  back  to  that  ancient  place  of  education  to  find 
the  heroes  of  our  tale.  We  are  but  young  once.  When  we 
remember  that  time  of  youth,  we  are  still  young.  He  over 
whose  head  eight  or  nine  lustres  have  passed,  if  he  wishes  to 
write  of  boys,  must  recall  the  time  when  he  himself  was  a  boy. 
Their  habits  change  ;  their  waists  are  longer  or  shorter  ;  their 
shirt-collars  stick  up  more  or  less  ;  but  the  boy  is  the  boy  in 
King  George's  time  as  in  that  of  his  royal  niece — once  our 
maiden  queen,  now  the  anxious  mother  of  many  boys.  And 
young  fellows  are  honest,  and  merry,  and  idle,  and  mischievous, 
and  timid,  and  brave,  and  studious,  and  selfish,  and  generous, 
and  mean,  and  false,  and  truth-telling,  and  affectionate,  and 
good,  and  bad,  now  as  in  former  days.  He  with  whom  we  have 
mainly  to  do  is  a  gentleman  of  mature  age  now  walking  the 
street  v.'ith  boys  of  his  own.  He  is  not  going  to  perish  in  the 
last  chapter  of  these  memoirs — to  die  of  consumption  with  his 
love  weeping  by  his  bedside,  or  to  blow  his  brains  out  in  de- 
spair, because  she  has  been  married  to  his  rival,  or  killed  out 
of  a  gig,  or  otherwise  done  for  in  the  last  chapter  but  one.  No, 
no  ;  we  will  have  no  dismal  endings.  Philip  Firmin  is  well  and 
hearty  at  this  minute,  owes  no  man  a  shilling,  and  can  enjoy 
his  glass  of  port  in  perfect  comfort.  So,  my  dear  miss,  if  you 
want  a  pulmonary  romance,  the  present  won't  suit  you.  So, 
young  gentleman,  if  you  are  for  melancholy,  despair,  and  sar- 
donic satire,  please  to  call  at  some  other  shojo.  That  Philip 
shall  have  his  trials  is  a  matter  of  course — may  they  be  inter- 
esting, though  they  do  not  end  dismally !     That  he  shall  fall 


1 12  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PiriLrP 

and  trip  in  his  course  sometimes  is  pretty  certain.  Ah,  who 
does  not  upon  this  life-journey  of  ours  ?  Is  not  our  want  the 
occasion  of  our  brother's  charity,  and  thus  does  not  good  come 
out  of  that  evil  ?  When  the  traveller  (of  whom  the  Master 
spoke)  fell  among  the  thieves,  his  mishap  was  contrived  to  tr^ 
many  a  heart  beside  his  own — the  Knave's  who  robbed  him,  the 
Levite's  and  Priest's  who  passed  him  by  as  he  lay  bleeding,  the 
humble  Samaritan's  whose  hand  poured  oil  into  his  wound,  and 
held  put  its  pittance  to  relieve  him. 

So  little  Philip  Firmin  was  brought  to  school  by  his  mamma 
in  her  carriage,  who  entreated  the  housekeeper  to  have  a  special 
charge  of  that  angelic  child  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  poor  lady's 
back  was  turned,  Mrs.  Bunce  emptied  the  contents  of  the  boy's 
trunk  into  one  of  sixty  or  seventy  little  cupboards,  wherein  re- 
posed  other  boys'  clothes  and  haberdashery :  and  then  Mrs. 
Firmin  requested  to  see  the  Rev.  Mr.  X.,  in  whose  house  Philip 
was  to  board,  and  besought  him,  and  explained  many  things  to 
him,  such  as  the  exceeding  delicacy  of  the  child's  constitution, 
&c.,  &c. ;  and  Mr.  X.,who  was  veiy  good-natured,  patted  the  boy 
kindly  on  the  head,  and  sent  for  the  other  Philip,  Philip  Ring- 
wood,  Phil's  cousin,  who  had  arrived  at  Grey  Friars  an  hour 
or  two  before  ;  and  Mr.  X.  told  Ringwood  to  take  care  of  the 
little  fellow  ;  and  ]\Irs.  Plrmin,  choking  behind  her  pocket- 
handkerchief,  gurgled  out  a  blessing  on  the  grinning  youth,  and 
at  one  time  had  an  idea  of  giving  Master  Ringwood  a  sove- 
reign, but  paused,  thinking  he  was  too  big  a  boy,  and  that  she 
might  not  take  such  a  liberty,  and  presently  she  was  gone ;  and 
little  Phil  Firmin  was  introduced  to  the  long-room  and  his 
schoolfellows  of  Mr.  X.'s  house ;  and  having  plenty  of  money, 
and  naturally  finding  his  way  to  the  pastrycook's  the  next  day, 
after  school,  he  was  met  by  his  cousin  Ringwood  and  robbed 
of  half  the  tarts  which  he  had  purchased.  A  fortnight  after- 
wards, the  hospitable  doctor  and  his  wife  asked  their  young 
kinsman  to  Old  Parr  Street,  Burlington  Gardens,  and  the  two 
boys  went ;  but  Phil  never  mentioned  anything  to  his  parents 
regarding  the  robber}^  of  tarts,  being  deterred,  perhaps,  from 
speaking  by  awful  threats  of  punishment  which  his  cousin  prom- 
ised to  administer  when  they  got  back  to  school,  in  case  of 
the  little  boy's  confession.  Subsequently,  Master  Ringwood 
was  asked  once  in  every  term  to  Old  Parr  Street ;  but  neither 
Mrs.  Firmin,  nor  the  doctor,  nor  Master  Firmin  liked  the  bar- 
onet's son,  and  Mrs.  Firmin  pronounced  him  a  violent,  rude 
boy. 

I,  for  my  part,  left  school  suddenly  and  early,  and  my  little 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  113 

protege  behind  me.  His  poor  mother,  who  had  promised  her- 
self to  come  for  him  every  Saturday,  did  not  keep  her  promise. 
Smithfield  is  a  long  way  from  Piccadilly  ;  and  an  angry  cow 
once  scratched  the  panels  of  her  carriage,  causing  her  footman 
to  spring  from  his  board  into  a  pig-pen,  and  herself  to  feel 
such  a  shock,  that  no  wonder  she  was  afraid  of  visiting  the 
City  afterwards.  The  circumstances  of  this  accident  she  often 
narrated  to  us.  Her  anecdotes  were  not  numerous,  but  she 
told  them  repeatedly.  In  imagination,  sometimes,  I  can  hear 
her  ceaseless,  simple  cackle  ;  see  her  faint  eyes,  as  she  prattles 
on  unconsciously,  and  watch  the  dark  looks  of  her  handsome, 
silent  husband,  scowling  from  under  his  eyebrows  and  smiling 
behind  his  teeth.  I  dare  say  he  ground  those  teeth  with  sup- 
pressed rage  sometimes.  I  dare  say  to  bear  with  her  endless 
volubility  must  have  tasked  his  endurance.  He  may  have 
treated  her  ill,  but  she  tried  him.  She,  on  her  part,  may  have 
been  a  not  very  wise  woman,  but  she  w-as  kind  to  me.  Did 
not  her  housekeeper  make  me  the  best  of  tarts,  and  keep 
goodies  from  the  company  dinners  for  the  young  gentlemen 
when  they  came  home  .-*  Did  not  her  husband  give  me  of  his 
fees  }  I  promise  you,  after  I  had  seen  Dr.  Fell  a  few  times, 
that  first  unpleasing  impression  produced  by  his  darkling  coun- 
tenance and  sinister  good  looks  wore  away.  He  was  a  gentle- 
man. He  had  lived  in  the  great  world,  of  which  he  told  anec- 
dotes delightful  to  boys  to  hear ;  and  he  passed  the  bottle  to 
me  as  if  I  was  a  man. 

I  hope  and  think  I  remembered  the  injunction  of  poor  Mrs. 
Firmin  to  be  kind  to  her  boy.  As  long  as  we  stayed  together 
at  Grey  Friars,  I  was  Phil's  champion  whenever  he  needed  my 
protection,  though  of  course  I  could  not  always  be  present  to 
guard  the  little  scapegrace  from  all  the  blows  which  were  aimed 
at  his  young  face  by  pugilists  of  his  own  size.  There  were 
seven  or  eight  years'  difference  between  us  (he  says  ten,  which 
is  absurd,  and  which  I  deny)  ;  but  I  was  always  remarkable  for 
my  affability,  and,  in  spite  of  our  disparity  of  age,  would  often 
graciously  accept  the  general  invitation  I  had  from  his  father 
for  any  Saturday  and  Sunday  when  I  would  like  to  accompany 
Philip  home. 

Such  an  invitation  is  welcome  to  any  schoolboy.  To  get 
away  from  Smithfield,  and  show  our  best  clothes  in  Bond  Street, 
was  always  a  privilege.  To  strut  in  the  Park  on  Sunday,  and 
nod  to  the  other  fellows  who  were  strutting  there  too,  was  better 
than  remaining  at  school,  "  doing  '  Diates  aron,' "  as  the  phrase 
ased  to  be,  having  that  endless  roast-beef  for  dinner,  and  hear 


114 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rillLIP 


ing  two  sermons  in  chapel.  There  may  have  been  more  lively 
streets  in  London  than  Old  Parr  Street ;  but  it  was  pleasanter 
to  be  there  than  to  look  at  Goswell  Street  over  Grey  Friars' 
wall ;  and  so  the  present  biographer  and  reader's  very  humble 
servant  found  Dr.  Firmin's  house  an  agreeable  resort.  Mamma 
was  often  ailing,  or  if  well,  went  out  into  the  world  with  her 
husband  ;  in  either  case,  we  boys  had  a  good  dinner  provided 
for  us,  with  the  special  dishes  which  Phil  loved  ;  and  after  din- 
ner we  adjourned  to  the  play,  not  being  by  any  means  too  proud 
to  sit  in  the  pit  with  Mr.  Brice,  the  doctor's  confidential  man. 
On  Sunday  we  went  to  church  at  Lady  Whittlesea's,  and  back 
to  school  in  the  evening ;  when  the  doctor  almost  always  gcivi. 
lis  a  fee.  If  he  did  not  dine  at  home  (and  I  own  his  absence 
did  not  much  damp  our  pleasure),  Brice  would  lay  a  small  en- 
closure on  the  young  gentleman's  coats,  which  we  transferred 
to  our  pockets.  I  believe  schoolboys  disdain  fees  in  the  present 
disinterested  times. 

Everj'thing  in  Dr.  Firmin's  house  was  as  handsome  as  might 
be,  and  yet  somehow  the  place  was  not  cheerful.  One's  step 
fell  noiselessly  on  the  faded  Turkey  carpet ;  the  room  was  large, 
and  all  save  the  dining-table  in  a  dingy  twilight.  The  picture 
of  Mrs.  Firmin,  looked  at  us  from  the  wall,  and  followed  us 
about  with  wild  violet  eyes.  Philip  Firmin  had  the  same  violet 
odd  bright  eyes,  and  the  same  colored  hair  of  an  auburn  tinge; 
in  the  picture  it  fell  in  long  wild  masses  over  the  lady's  back  as 
she  leaned  with  bare  arms  on  a  harp.  Over  the  sideboard  was 
the  doctor,  in  a  black  velvet  coat  and  a  fur  collar,  his  hand  on 
a  skull,  like  Hamlet.  Skulls  of  oxen,  horned,  with  wreaths, 
formed  the  cheerful  ornaments  of  the  cornice.  On  the  side- 
table  glittered  a  pair  of  cups,  given  by  grateful  patients,  looking 
like  receptacles  rather  for  funereal  ashes  than  for  festive  flowers 
or  wine.  Brice,  the  butler,  wore  the  gravity  and  costume  of  an 
undertaker.  The  footman  stealthily  moved  hither  and  thither, 
bearing  the  dinner  to  us ;  we  always  spoke  under  our  breath 
whilst  we  were  eating  it.  "  The  room  don't  look  more  cheerful 
of  a  morning  when  the  patients  are  sitting  here,  I  can  tell  you," 
Phil  would  say  ;  indeed,  we  could  well  fancy  that  it  was  dismal. 
The  drawing-room  had  a  rhubarb-colored  flock  paper  (on  account 
of  the  governor's  attachment  to  the  shop.  Master  Phil  said),  a 
great  piano,  a  harp  smothered  in  a  leather  bag  in  a  corner, 
which  the  languid  owner  now  never  touched  ;  and  everybody's 
face  seemed  scared  and  pale  in  the  great  looking-glasses,  which 
reflected  you  over  and  over  again  into  the  distance,  so  that  you 
seemed  to  twinkle  off  right  through  the  Albany  into  Piccadilly. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


IIS 


Old  Parr  Street  has  been  a  habitation  for  generations  of 
surgeons  and  physicians.  I  suppose  the  noblemen  for  whose 
use  the  street  was  intended  in  the  time  of  the  early  Georges 
fled,  finding  the  neighborhood  too  dismal,  and  the  gentlemen 
in  black  coats  came  and  took  possession  of  the  gilded,  gloomy 
chambers  which  the  sacred  mode  vacated.  These  mutations  of 
fashion  have  always  been  matters  of  profound  speculation  to  me. 
Why  shall  not  one  moralize  over  London,  as  over  Rome,  or 
Baalbec  or  Troy  town  ?  I  like  to  walk  among  the  Hebrews  of 
W'ardour  Street,  and  fancy  the  place,  as  it  once  was,  crowded 
with  chairs  and  gilt  chariots,  and  torches  flashing  in  the  hands 
of  the  running  footmen.  I  have  a  grim  pleasure  in  thinking 
that  Golden  Square  was  once  the  resort  of  the  aristocracy,  and 
Monmouth  Street  the  delight  of  the  genteel  world.  What  shall 
prevent  us  Londoners  from  musing  over  the  decline  and  fall  of 
city  sovereignties,  and  drawing  our  cockney  morals  ?  As  the 
late  Mr.  Gibbon  meditated  his  history  leaning  against  a  column 
in  the  Capitol,  why  should  not  I  muse  over  mine,  reclining  un- 
der an  arcade  of  the  Pantheon  ?  Not  the  Pantheon  at  Rome, 
in  the  Cabbage  Market  by  the  Piazza  Navona,  where  the 
immortal  Gods  were  worshipped, — the  immortal  gods  who  are 
now  dead  ;  but  the  Pantheon  in  Oxford  Street,  ladies,  where  you 
purchase  feeble  pomatums,  music,  glassware,  and  baby-linen  ; 
and  which  has  its  history  too.  Have  notSelwyn,  and  Walpole, 
and  March,  and  Carlisle  figured  there  ?  Has  not  Prince 
Florizel  flounced  through  the  hall  in  his  rustling  domino,  and 
danced  there  in  powdered  splendor  ?  and  when  the  ushers 
refused  admission  to  lovely  Sophy  Baddeley,  did  not  the 
young  men,  her  adorers,  draw  their  rapiers  and  vow  to  slay 
the  doorkeepers  ;  and  crossing  the  glittering  blades  over  the 
enchantress'  head,  make  a  warlike  triumphal  arch  for  her  to 
pass  under,  all  flushed,  and  smiling,  and  perfumed,  and 
painted  ?  The  lives  of  streets  are  as  the  lives  of  men,  and 
shall  not  the  street-preacher  if  so  minded,  take  for  the  text  of 
his  sermon  the  stones  in  the  gutter  ?  That  you  were  once  the 
resort  of  the  fashion,  O  Monmouth  Street !  by  the  invocation 
of  blessed  St.  Giles  shall  I  not  improve  that  sweet  thought 
into  a  godly  discourse,  and  make  the  ruin  edifying  ?  O  mcs 
freres  !  There  were  splendid  thoroughfares,  dazzling  com- 
pany, bright  illuminations,  in  our  streets  when  our  hearts  were 
young :  we  entertained  in  them  a  noble  youthful  company  of 
chivalrous  hopes  and  lofty  ambitions  ;  of  blushing  thoughts 
in  snowy  robes  spotless  and  virginal.  See  in  the  embrasure  of 
the  window,  where  you  sat  looking  to  the  stars,  and  nestling  by 


1 1 6  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

the  soft  side  of  your  first  love,  hang  Mr.  Moses'  bargains  of 
turned  old  clothes,  very  cheap  ;  of  worn  old  boots,  bedraggled 
in  how  much  and  how  many  people's  mud  ;  a  great  bargain. 
See  !  along  the  street,  strewed  with  flowers  once  mayhap — a 
fight  of  beggars  for  the  refuse  of  an  apple-stall,  or  a  tipsy  basket- 
woman  reeling  shrieking  to  the  station.  O  me  !  Omy  beloved 
congregation  !  I  have  preached  this  stale  sermon  to  you  for 
ever  so  many  years.  O  my  jolly  companions,  I  have  drunk 
many  a  bout  with  you,  and  always  found  vanitas  vanitatiim 
written  on  the  bottom  of  the  pot ! 

I  choose  to  moralize  now  when  I  pass  the  place.  The 
garden  lias  run  to  seed,  the  walks  are  mildewed,  the  statues 
have  broken  noses,  the  gravel  is  dank  with  green  moss,  the 
roses  are  withered,  and  the  nightingales  have  ceased  to  make 
love.  It  is  a  funereal  street.  Old  Parr  Street,  certainly  ;  the 
carriages  which  drive  there  ought  to  have  feathers  on  the  roof, 
and  the  butlers  who  open  the  doors  should  wear  weepers — so 
the  scene  strikes  you  now  as  you  pass  along  the  spacious  empty 
pavement.  You  are  bilious,  my  good  man.  Go  and  pay  a 
guinea  to  one  of  the  doctors  in  those  houses ;  there  are  still 
doctors  there.  He  will  prescribe  taraxacum  for  you,  or  pil : 
hydrarg :  Bless  you  !  in  my  time,  to  us  gentlemen  of  the  fifth 
form,  the  place  was  bearable.  The  yellow  fogs  didn't  damp 
our  spirits — and  we  never  thought  them  too  thick  to  keep  us 
away  from  the  play  :  from  the  chivalrous  Charles  Kemble,  I  tell 
you,  my  Mirabel,  my  Mercutio,  my  princely  Falconbridge  :  from 
his  adorable  daughter  (O  my  distracted  heart !)  :  from  the 
classic  Young :  from  the  glorious  Long  Tom  Coffin :  from  the 
unearthly  Vanderdecken  — "  Return,  O  my  love,  and  we'll 
never,  never  part  "  (where  art  thou,  sweet  singer  of  that  most 
thrilling  ditty  of  my  youth  ?)  :  from  the  sweet,  sweet  Vidorine 
and  the  Bottle  Imp.  Oh,  to  see  that  Bottle  Imp  again,  and  hear 
that  song  about  the  "  Pilgrim  of  Love  !  "  Once,  but — hush  ; — 
this  is  a  secret — we  had  private  boxes,  the  doctor's  grand  friends 
often  sending  him  these  ;  and  finding  the  opera  rather  slow,  we 
went  to  a  concert  in  M-d-n  Lane,  near  Covent  Garden,  and 
heard  the  most  celestial  glees,  over  a  supper  of  fizzing  sausages 
and  mashed  potatoes,  such  as  the  world  has  never  seen  since. 
We  did  no  harm  ;  but  I  dare  say  it  was  very  wrong.  Price, 
the  butler,  ought  not  to  have  taken  us.  We  bullied  him,  and 
made  him  take  us  where  we  liked.  We  had  rum-shrub  in  the 
housekeeper's  room,  where  we  used  to  be  diverted  by  the 
society  of  other  butlers  of  the  neighboring  nobility  and  gentry, 
who  would  step  in.     Perhaps  it  was  wrong  to  leave  us  so  to  the 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THRO UG If  rilL    WORLD. 


117 


company  of  servants.  Dr.  Firmin  used  to  go  to  his  grand 
parties,  Mrs.  Firmin  to  bed.  "  Did  we  enjoy  the  performance 
last  night  ?  "  our  host  would  ask  at  breakfast.  "  Oh,  yes,  we 
enjoyed  the  performance  !  "  But  my  poor  Mrs.  Firmin  fancied 
that  w'e  enjoyed  Setniramide  or  the  Donna  del  Lago  ;  whereas  we 
had  been  to  the  pit  at  the  Adelphi  (out  of  our  own  money),  and 
seen  that  jolly  John  Reeve,  and  laughed — laughed  till  we  were 
fit  to  drop — and  stayed  till  the  curtain  was  down.  And  then 
we  would  come  home,  and,  as  aforesaid,  pass  a  delightful  hour 
over  supper,  and  hear  the  anecdotes  of  Mr.  Brice's  friends,  the 
other  butlers.  Ah,  that  was  a  time  indeed  !  There  never  was 
any  liquor  so  good  as  rum-shrub,  never ;  and  the  sausages  had 
a  flavor  of  Elysium.  How  hushed  we  were  when  Dr.  Firmin, 
coming  home  from  his  parties,  let  himself  in  at  the  street  door  ! 
Shoeless,  we  crept  up  to  our  bedrooms.  And  we  came  dow^n 
to  breakfast  with  innocent  young  faces — and  let  Mrs.  Firmin, 
at  lunch,  prattle  about  the  opera  ;  and  there  stood  Brice  and 
the  footman  behind  us,  looking  quite  grave,  the  abominable 
hypocrites  ! 

Then,  sir,  there  w^as  a  certain  way,  out  of  the  study  window, 
or  through  the  kitchen,  and  over  the  leads,  to  a  building, 
gloomy  indeed,  but  where  I  own  to  have  spent  delightful  hours 
of  the  most  flagitious  and  criminal  enjoyment  of  some  delicious 
little  Havanas,  ten  to  the  shilling.  In  that  building  there 
were  stables  once,  doubtless  occupied  by  great  Flemish  horses 
and  rumbling  gold  coaches  of  Walpole's  time  ;  but  a  celebrated 
surgeon,  when  he  took  possession  of  the  house,  made  a  lecture- 
room  of  the  premises, — "  And  this  door,"  says  Phil,  pointing 
to  one  leading  into  the  mews,  "  was  very  convenient  for  having 
the  bodies  in  and  out  " — a  cheerful  reminiscence.  Of  this  kind 
of  furniture  there  was  now  very  little  in  the  apartment,  except 
a  dilapidated  skeleton  in  a  corner,  a  few  dusty  casts  of  heads, 
and  bottles  of  preparations  on  the  top  of  an  old  bureau,  and 
some  mildewed  harness  hanging  on  the  walls.  This  apartment 
became  Mr.  Phil's  smoking-room  when,  as  he  grew  taller,  he 
felt  himself  too  dignified  to  ^t  in  the  kitchen  regions  :  the 
honest  butler  and  housekeeper  themselves  pointing  out  to  their 
young  master  that  his  place  was  elsewhere  than  among  the 
servants.  So  there,  privately  and  with  great  delectation,  we 
smoked  many  an  abominable  cigar  in  that  dreary  back  room, 
the  gaunt  walls  and  twilight  ceilings  of  which  were  by  no  means 
melancholy  to  us,  who  found  forbidden  pleasures  the  sweetest, 
after  the  absurd  fashion  of  boys.  Dr.  Firmin  was  an  enemy  to 
smoking,  and  ever  accustomed  to  speak  of  the  practice  with 


1 18  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

eloquent  indignation.  "  It  was  a  low  practice — the  habit  of 
cabmen,  pot-house  frequenters,  and  Irish  apple-woiiien,"  the 
doctor  would  say,  as  Phil  and  his  friend  looked  at  each  other 
with  a  stealthy  joy.  Phil's  father  was  ever  scented  and  neat, 
the  pattern  of  handsome  propriety.  Perhaps  he  had  a  cleare. 
perception  regarding  manners  than  respecting  morals  ;  perhaps 
his  conversation  was  full  of  platitudes,  his  talk  (concerning 
people  of  fashion  chiefly)  mean  and  uninstructive,  his  behavior 
to  young  Lord  Egham  rather  fulsome  and  lacking  of  dignity. 
Perhaps,  I  say,  the  idea  may  have  entered  into  young  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis's  mind  that  his  hospitable  entertainer  and  friend,  Dr. 
Firmin,  of  Old  Parr  Street,  was  what  at  the  present  day  might 
be  denominated  an  old  humbug  ;  but  modest  young  men  do  not 
come  quickly  to  such  unpleasant  conclusions  regarding  their 
seniors.  Dr.  Firmin's  manners  were  so  good,  his  forehead  was 
so  high,  his  frill  so  fresh,  his  hands  so  white  and  slim,  that  for 
some  considerable  time  we  ingenuously  admired  him ;  and  it 
was  not  without  a  pang  that  we  came  to  view  him  as  he  actually 
was — no,  not  as  he  actually  was — no  man  whose  early  nurture 
was  kindly  can  judge  quite  impartially  the  man  who  has  been 
kind  to  him  in  boyhood. 

I  quitted  school  suddenly,  leaving  my  little  Phil  behind  me, 
a  brave  little  handsome  boy,  endearing  himself  to  old  and 
young  by  his  good  looks,  his  gayety,  his  courage,  and  his  gen- 
tlemanly bearing.  Once  in  a  way  a  letter  would  come  from 
him,  full  of  that  artless  affection  and  tenderness  which  fills 
boys'  hearts,  and  is  so  touching  in  their  letters.  It  was  an- 
swered with  proper  dignity  and  condescension  on  the  senior 
boy's  part.  Our  modest  little  country  home  kept  up  a  friendly 
intercourse  with  Dr.  Firmin's  grand  London  mansion,  of  which, 
in  his  visits  to  us,  my  uncle,  Major  Pendennis,  did  not  fail  to 
bring  news.  A  correspondence  took  place  between  the  ladies 
of  each  house.  We  supplied  Mrs.  Firmin  with  little  country 
presents,  tokens  of  my  mother's  good-will  and  gratitude  towards 
the  friends  who  had  been  kind  to  her  son.  I  went  my  way  to 
the  university,  having  occasional  glimpses  of  Phil  at  school.  I 
took  chambers  in  the  Temple,  which  he  found  great  delight  in 
visitmg ;  and  he  liked  our  homely  dinner  from  Dick's,  and  a 
bed  on  the  sofa,  better  than  the  splendid  entertainments  in 
Old  Parr  Street  and  his  great  gloomy  chamber  there.  He  had 
grown  by  this  time  to  be  ever  so  much  taller  than  his  senior, 
though  he  always  persists  in  looking  up  to  me  unto  the  present 
day. 

A  very  few  weeks  after  my  poor  mother  passed  that  judg- 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


119 


ment  on  Mrs.  Firmin,  she  saw  reason  to  regret  and  revoke  it 
Phil's  mother,  who  was  afraid,  or  perhaps  was  forbidden,  to 
attend  her  son  in  his  illness  at  school,  was  taken  ill  herself. 

Phil  returned  to  Grey  Friars  in  a  deep  suit  of  black ;  the 
servants  on  the  carriage  wore  black  too ;  and  a  certain  tyrant 
of  the  place,  beginning  to  laugh  and  jeer  because  Firmin's  eyes 
filled  with  tears  at  some  ribald  remark,  was  gruffly  rebuked  by 
Sampson  Major,  the  cock  of  the  whole  school ;  and  with  the 
question,  "  Don't  you  see  the  poor  beggar's  in  mourning,  you 
great  brute  ?  "  was  kicked  about  his  business. 

When  Philip  Firmin  and  I  met  again,  there  was  crape  on 
both  our  hats.  I  don't  think  either  could  see  the  other's  face 
very  well.  I  went  to  see  him  in  Parr  Street,  in  the  vacant,  mel- 
ancholy house,  where  the  poor  mother's  picture  was  yet  hanging 
in  her  empty  drawing-room. 

"  She  was  always  fond  of  you,  Pendennis,"  said  Phil.  "  God 
bless  you  for  being  so  good  to  her.  You  know  what  it  is  to  lose 
— to  lose  what  loves  you  best  in  the  world.  I  didn't  know  how 
— how  I  loved  her,  till  I  had  lost  her,"  And  many  a  sob  broke 
his  words  as  he  spoke. 

Her  picture  was  removed  from  the  drawing-room  presently 
into  Phil's  own  little  study — the  room  in  which  he  sat  and  defied 
his  father.  What  had  passed  between  them  ?  The  young  man 
was  very  much  changed.  The  frank  looks  of  old  days  were 
gone,  and  Phil's  face  was  haggard  and  bold.  The  doctor  would 
not  let  me  have  a  word  more  with  his  son  after  he  had  found 
us  together,  but  with  dubious  appealing  looks,  followed  me  to 
the  door,  and  shut  it  upon  me.  I  felt  that  it  closed  upon  two 
unhappy  men. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A   CONSULTATION. 

Should  I  peer  into  Firmin's  privacy,  and  find  the  key  to 
that  secret  ?  What  skeleton  was  there  in  the  closet  ?  In  the 
Cornhill  Afagazine,*  you  may  remember,  there  were  some  verses 
about  a  portion  of  a  skeleton.  Did  you  remark  how  the  poet 
and  present  proprietor  of  the  human  skull  at  once  settled  the 
sex  of  it,  and  determined  off-hand  that  it  must  have  belonged 

*  No.  12  :  December  i860. 


1 2  o  THE  A  D  VEN  TURES  OF  PHILIP 

to  a  woman  ?  Such  skulls  are  locked  up  in  many  gentlemen's 
hearts  and  memories,  liluebeard,  you  know,  had  a  whole  mu- 
seum of  them — as  that  imprudent  little  last  wife  of  his  found  out 
to  her  cost.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  a  lady,  we  suppose,  would 
select  hers  of  the  sort  which  had  carried  beards  when  in  the 
flesh.  Given  a  neat  locked  skeleton  cupboard,  belonging  to  a 
man  of  a  certain  age,  to  ascertain  the  sex  of  the  original  owner 
of  the  bones,  you  have  not  much  need  of  a  picklock  or  a  black- 
smith. There  is  no  use  in  forcing  the  hinge,  or  scratching  the 
pretty  panel.  We  know  what  is  inside — we  arch  rogues  and  men 
of  the  world.  Murders,  I  suppose,  are  not  many — enemies  and 
victims  of  our  hate  and  anger,  destroyed  and  trampled  out  of 
life  by  us,  and  locked  out  of  sight  :  but  corpses  of  our  dead 
loves,  my  dear  sir — my  dear  madam — have  we  not  got  them 
stowed  away  in  cupboard  after  cupboard,  in  bottle  after  bottle  ? 
Oh,  fie  !  And  young  people  !  What  doctrine  is  this  to  preach 
to  them,  who  spell  your  book  by  papa's  and  mamma's  knees  ? 
Yes,  and  how  wrong  it  is  to  let  them  go  to  church,  and  see  and 
hear  papa  and  mamma  publicly  on  their  knees,  calling  out,  and 
confessing  to  the  whole  congregation,  that  they  are  sinners  ! 
So,  though  I  had  not  the  key,  I  could  see  through  the  panel  and 
the  glimmering  of  the  skeleton  inside. 

Although  the  elder  Firmin  followed  me  to  the  door,  and  his 
eyes  only  left  me  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  I  felt 
sure  that  Phil  ere  long  would  open  his  mind  to  me,  or  give  me 
some  clue  to  that  mystery.  1  should  hear  from  him  why  his 
bright  cheeks  had  become  hollow,  why  his  fresh  voice,  which  I 
remember  so  honest  and  cheerful,  was  now  harsh  and  sarcas- 
tic, with  tones  that  often  grated  on  the  hearer,  and  laughter 
that  gave  pain.  It  was  about  Philip  himself  that  my  anxieties 
were.  The  young  fellow  had  inherited  from  his  poor  mother  a 
considerable  fortune — some  eight  or  nine  hundred  a  year,  we 
always  understood.  He  was  living  in  a  costly,  not  to  say  ex- 
travagant manner.  I  thought  Mr.  Philip's  juvenile  remorses 
were  locked  up  in  the  skeleton  closet,  and  was  grieved  to  think 
he  had  fallen  in  mischief's  way.  Hf,nce,  no  doubt,  might  arise 
the  anger  between  him  and  his  father.  The  boy  was  extrav- 
agant and  headstrong  ;  and  the  parent  remonstrant  and  irritated. 

I  met  my  old  friend  Dr.  Goodenough  at  the  club  one  even- 
ing \  and  as  we  dined  together  I  discoursed  with  him  about  his 
former  patient,  and  recalled  to  him  that  day,  years  back,  when 
the  boy  was  ill  at  school,  and  when  my  poor  mother  and  Phil's 
own  were  yet  alive. 

Goodenough  looked  very  grave. 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  j  2  i 

**  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  boy  was  very  ill ;  he  was  nearly  gone 
at  that  time — at  that  time — when  his  mother  was  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  and  his  father  dangling  after  a  prince.  We  thought 
one  day  it  was  all  over  with  him  ;  but " 

"But  a  good  doctor  interposed  between  him  zwdpalluia 
mors." 

"  A  good  doctor  ?  a  good  nurse  !  The  boy  was  delirious, 
and  had  a  fancy  to  walk  out  of  window,  and  would  have  done 
so,  but  for  one  of  my  nurses.     You  know  her." 

"What!  the  Little  Sister?" 

"  Yes,  the  Little  Sister." 

"  And  it  was  she  who  nursed  Phil  through  his  fever,  and 
saved  his  life  1     I  drink  her  healtli.     She  is  a  good  little  soul." 

"  Good  ! "  said  the  doctor,  with  his  gruffest  voice  and  frown. 
— (He  was  always  most  fierce  when  he  was  most  tender-hearted.) 
"  Good,  indeed  !  "  Will  you  have  some  more  of  this  duck  ? — 
Do.  You  have  had  enough  already,  and  it's  very  unwholesome. 
Good,  sir  ?  But  for  women,  fire  and  brimstone  ought  to  come 
down  and  censume  this  world.  Your  dear  mother  was  one  of 
the  good  ones.  I  was  attending  you  when  you  were  ill,  at  those 
horrible  chambers  you  had  in  the  Temple,  at  the  same  time 
when  young  Firmin  was  ill  at  Grey  Friars.  And  I  suppose  I 
must  be  answerable  for  keeping  two  scrapegraces  in  the  world." 

"  Why  didn't  Dr.  Firmin  come  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Hm  !  his  nerves  were  too  delicate.  Besides,  he  did  come. 
Talk  of  the  *  *  *  " 

The  personage  designated  by  asterisks  was  Phil's  father, 
who  was  also  a  member  of  our  club,  and  who  entered  the  dining- 
room,  tall,  stately,  and  pale,  with  his  stereotyped  smile,  and 
wave  of  his  pretty  hand.  By  the  way,  that  smile  of  Firmin's 
was  a  very  queer  contortion  of  the  handsome  features.  As  you 
came  up  to  him,  he  would  draw  his  lips  over  his  teeth,  causing 
his  jaws  to  wrinkle  (or  dimple  if  you  will)  on  either  side. 
Meanwhile  his  eyes  looked  out  from  his  face,  quite  melancholy 
and  independent  of  the  little  transaction  in  which  the  mouth 
engaged.  Lips  said,  "  I  am  a  gentleman  of  fine  manners  and 
fascinating  address,  and  I  am  supposed  to  be  happy  to  see  you. 
How  do  you  do  ?  "  Dreary,  sad,  as  into  a  great  blank  desert, 
looked  the  dark  eyes.  I  do  know  one  or  two,  but  only  one  or 
two  faces  of  men,  when  oppressed  with  care,  which  can  yet 
smile  all  over. 

Goodenough  nods  grimly  to  the  smile  of  the  other  doctor,  who 
blandly  looks  at  our  table,  holding  his  chin  in  one  of  his  pretty 
hands. 


122  THE  A  D  VENTURES  OF  PHIL  IP 

"  How  do  ? "  growls  Goodenough.     "  Young  hopeful  well  ?  " 

'*  Young  hopeful  sits  smoking  cigars  till  morning  with  some 
friends  of  his,"  says  Firmin,  with  the  sad  smile  directed  to- 
wards me  this  time.  "  Boys  will  be  boys."  And  he  pensively 
walks  away  from  us  with  a  friendly  nod  towards  me ;  examines 
the  dinner-card  in  an  attitude  of  melancholy  grace  ;  points  with 
the  jewelled  hand  to  the  dishes  which  he  will  have  served,  and 
"s  off,  and  simpering  to  another  acquaintance  at  a  distant 
table. 

"  I  thought  he  would  take  that  table,"  says  Firmin's  cynical 
cotifrere. 

"  In  the  draught  of  the  door  ?  Don't  you  see  how  the 
candle  flickers  ?     It  is  the  worst  place  in  the  room  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  don't  you  see  who  is  sitting  at  the  next  table  ? " 

Now  at  the  next  table  was  a  n-blem-n  of  vast  wealth,  who 
was  growling  at  the  quality  of  the  mutton  cutlets,  and  the  half- 
pint  of  sherry  which  he  had  ordered  for  his  dinner.  But  as  his 
lordship  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  ensuing  history,  of  course 
we  shall  not  violate  confidence  by  mentioning  his  name.  We 
could  see  Firmin  smiling  on  his  neighbor  with  his  blandest 
melancholy,  and  the  waiters  presently  bearing  up  the  dishes 
which  the  doctor  had  ordered  for  his  own  refection.  He  was 
no  lover  of  mutton-chops  and  coarse  sherr}',  as  I  knew,  who 
had  partaken  of  many  a  feast  at  his  board.  I  could  see  the 
diamond  twinkle  on  his  pretty  hand,  as  it  daintily  poured  out 
creaming  wine  from  the  ice-pail  by  his  side — the  liberal  hand 
that  had  given  me  many  a  sovereign  when  I  was  a  boy. 

"  I  can't  help  liking  him,"  said  I  to  my  companion,  whose 
scornful  eyes  were  now  and  again  directed  towards  his  colleague. 

"  This  port  is  very  sweet.  Almost  all  port  is  sweet  now," 
remarks  the  doctor. 

"  He  was  very  kind  to  me  in  my  school-days ;  and  Philip 
was  a  fine  little  fellow." 

"  Handsome  a  boy  as  ever  I  saw.  Does  he  keep  his  beauty  ? 
Father  was  a  handsome  man — very.  Quite  a  lady-killer — I 
mean  out  of  his  practice  I  "  adds  the  grim  doctor.  "  What  is 
the  boy  doing  ?  " 

"  He  is  at  the  university.  He  has  his  mother's  fortune. 
He  is  wild  and  unsettled,  and  I  fear  he  is  going  to  the  bad  a 
little." 

"  Is  he  ?     Shouldn't  wonder  !  "  grumbles  Goodenough. 

We  had  talked  very  frankly  and  pleasantly  until  the  appear- 
ance of  the  other  doctor,  but  with  Firmin's  arrival  Goodenough 
seemed  to  button  up  his  conversation.      He  quickly  stumped 


OlSr  IIIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


'23 


away  from  the  dining-room  to  the  drawing-room,  and  sat  over 
a  novel  there  until  time  came  when  he  was  to  retire  to  his 
patients  or  his  home. 

That  there  was  no  liking  between  the  doctors,  that  there 
was  a  difference  between  Philip  and  his  father,  was  clear  enough 
to  me  :  but  the  causes  of  these  differences  I  had  yet  to  learn. 
The  story  came  to  me  piecemeal  ;  from  confessions  here, 
admissions  there,  deductions  of  my  own.  I  could  not,  of 
course,  be  present  at  many  of  the  scenes  which  I  shall  have  to 
relate  as  though  I  had  witnessed  them  ;  and  the  posture,  lan- 
guage, and  inward  thoughts  of  Philip  and  his  friends,  as  here 
related,  no  doubt  are  the  fancies  of  the  narrator  in  many  cases  ; 
but  the  story  is  as  authentic  as  many  histories,  and  the  reader 
need  only  give  such  an  amount  of  credence  to  it  as  he  may 
judge  that  its  verisimilitude  warrants. 

Well,  then,  we  must  not  only  revert  to  that  illness  which 
befell  when  Philip  Firmin  was  a  boy  at  Grey  Friars,  but  go 
back  yet  farther  in  time  to  a  period  which  I  cannot  precisely 
ascertain. 

The  pupil's  of  old  Gandish's  painting  academy  may  remem- 
ber a  ridiculous  little  man,  with  a  great  deal  of  wild  talent, 
about  the  ultimate  success  of  which  his  friends  were  divided. 
Whether  Andrew  was  a  genius,  or  whether  he  was  a  zany,  was 
always  a  moot  question  among  the  frequenters  of  the  Greek 
Street  billiard-rooms,  and  the  noble  disciples  of  the  Academy 
and  St.  Martin's  Lane.  He  may  have  been  crazy  and  absurd  • 
he  may  have  had  talent  too  :  such  characters  are  not  unknown 
in  art  or  in  literature.  He  broke  the  Queen's  English  ;  he  was 
ignorant  to  a  wonder ;  he  dressed  his  little  person  in  the  most 
fantastic  raiment  and  queerest  cheap  finery ;  he  wore  a  beard, 
bless  my  soul  !  twenty  years  before  beards  were  known  to  wag 
in  Britain.  He  was  the  most  affected  little  creature,  and,  if 
you  looked  at  him,  would  pose  in  attitudes  of  such  ludicrous 
dirty  dignit}',  that  if  you  had  had  a  dun  waiting  for  money  in 
the  hall  of  your  lodging-house,  or  your  picture  refused  at  the 
Academy — if  you  were  suffering  under  ever  so  much  calamity — 
you  could  not  help  laughing.  He  was  the  butt  of  all  his 
acquaintances,  the  laughing-stock  of  high  and  low,  and  he  had 
as  loving,  gentle,  faithful,  honorable  a  heart  as  ever  beat 
in  a  little  bosom.  He  is  gone  to  his  rest  now  ;  his  palette  and 
easel  are  waste  timber ;  his  genius,  which  made  some  little 
flicker  of  brightness,  never  shone  much,  and  is  extinct.  In  an 
old  album  that  dates  back  for  more  than  a  score  of  years,  I 
sometimes  look  at  poor  Andrew's  strange  wild  sketches.     He 


124 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


might  have  done  something  had  he  continued  to  remain  poor; 
but  a  rich  widow,  whom  he  met  at  Rome,  fell  in  love  with  the 
strange  errant  painter,  pursued  him  to  luigland,  and  married 
him  in  spite  of  himself.  His  genius  drooped  under  the  servi- 
tude :  he  lived  but  a  few  short  years,  and  died  of  consumption, 
of  which  the  good  Goodenough's  skill  could  not  cure  him. 

One  day,  as  he  was  driving  with  his  wife  in  her  splendid 
barouche  through  the  Haymarket,  he  suddenly  bad^  ' .:.  coach- 
man stop,  sprang  over  the  side  of  the  carriage  before  .."je  steps 
could  be  let  fall,  and  his  astonished  wife  saw  him  shaking  the 
hand  of  a  shabbily  dressed  little  woman  who  was  passing, — 
shaking  both  her  hands,  and  weeping,  and  gesticulating,  and 
twisting  his  beard  and  mustaches,  as  his  wont  was  when 
agitated.  Mrs,  Monttitchet  (the  wealthy  Mrs.  Carrickfergus 
she  had  been,  before  she  married  the  painter),  the  owner 
of  a  young  husband,  who  had  sprung  from  her  side,  and  out  of 
her  carriage,  in  order  to  caress  a  young  woman  passing  in  the 
street,  might  well  be  disturbed  by  this  demonstration ;  but  she 
was  a  kind-hearted  woman,  and  when  Montfitchet,  on  reascend- 
ing  into  the  family  coach,  told  his  wife  the  history  of  the  per- 
son of  whom  he  had  just  taken  leave,  she  cried  plentifully  too. 
She  bade  the  coachman  drive  straightway  to  her  own  house  : 
she  rushed  up  to  her  own  apartment,  whence  she  emerged, 
bearing  an  immense  bag  full  of  wearing  apparel,  and  followed 
by  a  panting  butler,  carrying  a  bottle-basket  and  a  pie  :  and  she 
drove  off,  with  her  pleased  Andrew  by  her  side,  to  a  court  in 
St.  Martin's  Lane,  where  dwelt  the  poor  woman  with  whom  1  e 
had  ju^t  been  conversing. 

It  had  pleased  heaven,  in  the  midst  of  dreadful  calamity,  to 
send  her  friends  and  succor.  She  was  suffering  under  misfor- 
tune, poverty,  and  cowardly  desertion.  A  man  who  had  called 
himself  Brandon  when  he  took  lodgings  in  her  father's  house, 
married  her,  brought  her  to  London,  tired  of  her,  and  left  her. 
She  had  reason  to  think  he  had  given  a  false  name  when  he 
lodged  with  her  father :  he  fled,  after  a  few  months,  and  his 
real  name  she  never  knew.  When  he  deserted  her,  she  went  back 
to  her  father,  a  weak  man  married  to  a  domineering  woman,  who 
pretended  to  disbelieve  the  story  of  her  marriage,  and  drove 
her  from  the  door.  Desperate,  and  almost  mad,  she  came  back 
to  London,  where  she  still  had  some  little  relics  of  property 
that  her  fugitive  husband  left  behind  him.  He  promised,  when 
he  left  her,  to  remit  her  money ;  but  he  sent  none,  or  she  re- 
fused it — or,  in  her  wilderness  and  despair,  lost  the  dreadful 
paper  which  announced  his  desertion,  and  that  he  was  married 


WirAT    NATHAN    SAID    T'NTO    DAA'TD. 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  125 

before,  and  that  to  pursue  him  would  ruui  him,  and  he  knew 
she  never  would  do  that — no,  however  much  he  might  have 
wronged  her. 

She  was  penniless  then, — deserted  by  all, — having  made 
away  with  the  last  trinket  of  her  brief  days  of  love,  having  sold 
the  last  little  remnant  of  her  poor  little  stock  of  clothing,  alone 
in  the  great  wilderness  of  London,  when  it  pleased  God  to  send 
her  succor  in  the  person  of  an  old  friend  who  had  known  her, 
and  even  loved  her,  in  happier  days.  When  the  Samaritans 
came  to  this  poor  child,  they  found  her  sick  and  shuddering 
with  fever.  They  brought  their  doctor  to  her,  who  is  never  so 
eager  as  when  he  runs  up  a  poor  man's  stair.  And,  as  he 
watched  by  the  bed  wliere  her  kind  friends  came  to  help  her, 
he  heard  her  sad  little  story  of  trust  and  desertion. 

Her  father  was  a  humble  person  who  had  seen  better  days  ; 
and  poor  little  Mrs.  Brandon  had  a  sweetness  and  simplicity  of 
manner  which  exceedingly  touched  the  good  doctor.  She  had 
little  education,  except  that  which  silence,  long-suffering,  se- 
clusion, will  sometimes  give.  When  cured  of  her  illness,  there 
was  the  great  and  constant  evil  of  poverty  to  meet  and  over- 
come. How  was  she  to  live  ?  He  got  to  be  as  fond  of  her  as 
of  a  child  of  his  own.  She  was  tidy,  thrifty,  gay  at  times,  with 
a  little  simple  cheerfulness.  The  little  flowers  began  to  bloom 
as  the  sunshine  touched  them.  Her  whole  iife  hitherto  had 
been  cowering  under  neglect,  and  tyranny,  and  gloom. 

Mr.  Montfitchet  was  for  coming  so  often  to  look  after  the 
little  outcast  whom  he  had  succored  that  I  am  bound  to  say 
Mrs.  M.  became  hysterically  jealous,  and  waited  for  him  on 
the  stairs  as  he  came  down  swathed  in  his  Spanish  cloak, 
pounced  on  him,  and  called  him  a  monster.  Goodenough  was 
also,  I  fancy,  suspicious  of  Montfitchet,  and  Montfitchet  of 
Goodenough.  Howbeit,  the  doctor  vowed  that  he  never  had 
other  than  the  feeling  of  a  father  towards  his  poor  little  pro- 
tegee, nor  could  any  father  be  more  tender.  He  did  not  try  to 
take  her  out  of  her  station  in  life.  He  found,  or  she  found 
for  herself,  a  work  which  she  could  do.  "  Papa  used  to  say 
no  one  ever  nursed  him  so  nice  as  I  did,"  she  said.  "  I  think 
I  could  do  that  better  than  anything,  except  my  needle,  but 
I  like  to  be  useful  to  poor  sick  people  best.  I  don't  think 
about  myself  then,  sir."  And  for  this  business  good  Mr. 
Goodenough  had  her  educated  and  employed. 

The  widow  died  in  course  of  time  whom  Mrs.  Brandon's 
father  had  married,  and  her  daughters  refused  to  keep  him, 
speaking  very  disrespectfully  of  this  old  Mr.  Gann,  who  was, 


1 2  6  THE  A  D  J  'ENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

indeed,  a  weak  old  man.  And  now  Caroline  came  to  the  res- 
cue of  her  old  father.  She  was  a  shrewd  little  Caroline.  She 
had  saved  a  little  money.  Goodenough  gave  up  a  country- 
house,  which  he  did  not  care  to  use,  and  lent  Mrs.  Brandoft. 
the  furniture.  She  thought  she  could  keep  a  lodging-house  and 
find  lodgers.  Montfitchet  had  painted  her.  There  was  a  sort 
of  beauty  about  her  which  the  artist  admired.  When  Ridley 
the  Academician  had  the  small-pox,  she  attended  him,  and 
caught  the  malady.  She  did  not  mind  ;  not  she.  "  It  won't 
spoil  my  beauty."  she  said.  Nor  did  it.  The  disease  dealt 
very  kindly  with  her  little  modest  face,  I  don't  know  who  gave 
her  the  nick-name,  but  she  had  a  good  roomy  house  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street,  an  artist  on  the  first  and  second  floor;  and  there 
never  was  a  word  of  scandal  against  the  Little  Sister,  for 
was  not  her  father  in  permanence  sipping  gin-and-water  in  the 
ground  floor  parlor  ?  As  we  called  her  "  the  Little  Sister,"  her 
father  was  called  "  the  Captain  "  — a  bragging,  lazy,  good- 
natured  old  man — not  a  reputable  Captain — and  very  cheerful, 
though  the  conduct  of  his  children,  he  said,  had  repeatedly 
broken  his  heart. 

I  don't  know  how  many  years  the  Little  Sister  had  been  on 
duty  when  Philip  Firmin  had  his  scarlet  fever.  It  befell  him 
at  the  end  of  the  term,  just  when  all  the  boys  were  going  home. 
His  tutor  and  his  tutor's  wife  wanted  their  holidays,  and  sent 
their  own  children  out  of  the  way.  As  Phil's  father  was  absent. 
Dr.  Goodenough  came,  and  sent  his  nurse  in.  The  case  grew 
worse,  so  bad  that  Dr.  Firmin  was  summoned  from  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  and  arrived  one  evening  at  Grey  Friars — Grey  Friars  so 
silent  now,  so  noisy  at  other  times  with  the  shouts  and  crowds 
of  the  playground. 

"  Dr.  Goodenough's  carriage  was  at  the  door  when  Dr. 
Firmin 's  carriage  drove  up. 

"  How  was  the  boy  ?  " 

"  He  had  been  very  bad.  He  had  been  wrong  in  the  head 
all  day,  talking  and  laughing  quite  wild-like,"  the  servant  said. 

The  father  ran  up  the  stairs. 

Phil  was  in  a  great  room,  in  which  were  several  empty  beds 
of  boys  gone  home  for  the  holidays.  The  windows  were  opened 
into  Grey  Pilars  Square.  Goodenough  heard  his  colleague's 
carriage  drive  up,  and  rightly  divined  that  Phil's  father  had 
arrived.     He  came  out  and  met  Firmin  in  the  ante-room. 

"  Head  has  wandered  a  little.  Better  now,  and  quiet ; " 
and  the  one  doctor  murmured  to  the  other  the  treatment  which 
he  had  pursued. 


ON  Ills  WAY  7^ ff ROUGH  THE  WORLD.  127 

Firmin  stept  in  gently  towards  the  patient,  near  whose  side 
the  Little  Sister  was  standing. 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Phil. 

"  It  is  I,  dear.  Your  father,"  said  Dr.  Firmin,  with  real 
tenderness  in  his  voice. 

The  Little  Sister  turned  round  once,  and  fell  down  like  a 
stone  by  the  bedside. 

"  You  infernal  villain  !  "  said  Goodenough,  with  an  oath, 
and  a  step  forward.     "  You  are  the  man  !  " 

"  Hush  !  The  patient,  if  you  please.  Dr.  Goodenough," 
said  the  other  physician. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A     GENTEEL     FAMILY. 

Have  you  made  up  your  mind  on  the  question  of  seeming 
and  being  in  the  w'orld  ?  I  mean,  suppose  you  a>-e  poor,  is  it 
right  for  you  to  seetn  to  be  well  off  ?  Have  people  an  honest 
right  to  keep  up  appearances  ?  Are  you  justified  in  starA'ing 
your  dinner-table  in  order  to  keep  a  carriage  ;  to  have  such  an 
expensive  house  that  you  can't  by  any  possibility  help  a  poor 
relation  ?  to  array  your  daughters  in  costly  milliners'  wares 
because  they  live  witli  girls  whose  parents  are  twice  as  rich  ? 
Sometimes  it  is  hard  to  say  where  honest  pride  ends  and  hypoc- 
risy begins.  To  obtrude  your  poverty  is  mean  and  slavish  ;  as  it 
is  odious  for  a  beggar  to  ask  compassion  by  showing  his  sores. 
But  to  simulate  prosperity — to  be  wealthy  and  lavish  thrice  a 
year  when  vou  ask  your  friends,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  time  to 
munch  a  crust  and  sit  by  one  candle — are  the  folks  who  prac- 
tise this  deceit  worthy  of  applause  or  a  whipping  ?  Sometimes 
it  is  noble  pride,  sometimes  shabby  swindling.  When  I  see 
Eugenia  with  her  dear  children  exquisitely  neat  and  cheerful ; 
not  showing  the  slightest  semblance  of  poverty,  or  uttering  the 
smallest  complaint ;  persisting  that  Squanderfield,  her  husband, 
treats  her  well,  and  is  good  at  heart ;  and  denying  that  he 
leaves  her  and  her  3'oung  ones  in  want  •  I  admire  and  reverence 
that  noble  falsehood — that  beautiful  constancy  and  endurance 
which  disdains  to  ask  compassion.  When  I  sit  at  poor  Jeze- 
bella's  table,  and  am  treated  to  her  sham  bounties  and  shabby 


128  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rillLIP 

splendor,  I  only  feel  angry  for  the  hospitality,  and  that  dinner, 
and  guest,  and  host,  are  humbugs  together. 

Talbot  Twysden's  dinner-table  is  large,  and  the  guests  most 
respectable.  There  is  always  a  bigwig  or  two  present,  and  a 
dining  dow'ager  who  frequents  the  greatest  houses.  There  is  a 
butler  who  offers  you  wine  ;  there's  a  ))icnu  dn  diner  heioxo.  Mrs. 
Twysden ;  and  to  read  it  you  would  fancy  you  were  at  a  good 
dinner.  It  tastes  of  chopped  straw.  Oh,  the  dreary  sparkle  of 
that  feeble  champagne ;  the  audacity  of  that  public-house 
sherry  ;  the  swindle  of  that  acrid  claret ;  the  fiery  twang  of  that 
clammy  port !  I  have  tried  them  all,  I  tell  you  !  It  is  sham 
wine,  a  sham  dinner,  a  sham  welcome,  a  sham  cheerfulness 
among  the  guests  assembled.  I  feel  that  that  woman  eyes  and 
counts  the  cutlets  as  they  are  carried  off  the  tables  ;  perhaps 
watches  that  one  which  )'ou  try  to  swallow.  She  has  counted 
and  grudged  each  candle  by  which  the  cook  prepares  the  meal. 
Does  her  big  coachman  fatten  himself  on  purloined  oats  and 
beans,  and  Thorley's  food  for  cattle  ?  Of  the  rinsings  of  those 
wretched  bottles  the  butler  will  have  to  give  a  reckoning  in  the 
morning.  Unless  you  are  of  the  very  great  monde,  Twysden 
and  his  wife  think  themselves  better  than  you  are,  and  seriously 
patronize  you.  They  consider  it  is  a  privilege  to  be  invited  to 
those  horrible  meals  to  which  they  gravely  ask  the  greatest 
folks  in  the  country.  I  actually  met  Winton  there — the  famous 
Winton — the  best  dinner-giver  in  the  world  (ah,  what  a  position 
for  man  !)  I  watched  him,  and  marked  the  sort  of  wonder 
which  came  over  him  as  he  tasted  and  -sent  away  dish  after 
dish,  glass  after  glass.  "  Try  that  Chateau  Margaux,  Winton  !" 
calls  out  our  host.  "  It  is  some  that  Bottleby  and  I  imported." 
Imported  !  I  see  Winton 's  face  as  he  tastes  the  wine,  and  puts 
it  down.  He  does  not  like  to  talk  about  that  dinner.  He  has 
lost  a  day.  Twysden  will  continue  to  ask  him  every  year  ;  will 
continue  to  expect  to  be  asked  in  return,  with  Mrs.  Twysden 
and  one  of  his  daughters  ;  and  will  express  his  surprise  loudly 
at  the  club,  saying,  "  Hang  Winton  !  Deuce  take  the  fellow ! 
He  has  sent  nie  no  game  this  year  !  "  When  foreign  dukes  and 
princes  arrive,  Twysden  straightway  collars  them,  and  invites 
them  to  his  house.  And  sometimes  they  go  once — and  then 
ask,  "  Qui  done  est  ce  Monsieur  Tvisden^  qui  est  ce  drble  ?  "  And 
he  elbows  his  way  up  to  them  at  the  Minister's  assemblies, 
and  frankly  gives  them  his  hand.  And  calm  Mrs.  Twysden 
wriggles,  and  works,  and  slides,  and  pushes,  and  tramples  if 
need  be,  her  girls  following  behind  her,  until  she  too  has  come 
up  under  the  eyes  of  the  great  man,  and  bestowed  on  him  a 


MR.    FROG   REQUESTS   THE    HONOR   OF    PRINCE   OX'S   COMPANY   AT 
DINNER. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


129 


smile  and  a  curtsey.  Twysden  grasps  prosperity  cordially  by 
the  hand.  He  says  to  success,  "  Bravo  !  "  On  the  contrary,  I 
never  saw  a  man  more  resolute  in  not  knowing  unfortunate 
people,  or  more  daringly  forgetful  of  those  whom  he  does  not 
care  to  remember.  If  this  Levite  met  a  wayfarer,  going  down 
from  Jerusalem,  who  had  fallen  among  thieves,  do  you  think  he 
would  stop  to  rescue  the  fallen  man  ?  He  would  neither  give 
him  wine,  nor  oil,  nor  money.  He  would  pass  on  perfectly 
satisfied  with  his  own  virtue,  and  leave  the  other  to  go,  as  best 
he  might,  to  Jericho. 

What  is  this .''  Am  I  angry  because  Twysden  has  left  off 
asking  me  to  his  vinegar  and  chopped  hay  ?  No.  I  think  not. 
Am  I  hurt  because  Mrs.  Twysden  sometimes  patronizes  my 
wife,  and  sometimes  cuts  her  ?  Perhaps.  Only  women  thorough- 
ly know  the  insolence  of  \vomen  towards  one  another  in  the 
world.  That  is  a  very  stale  remark.  They  receive  and  deliver 
stabs,  smiling  politely.  Tom  Sayers  could  not  take  punishment 
more  gayly  than  they  do.  If  you  could  but  see  i/nder  the  skin, 
you  would  find  their  little  hearts  scarred  all  over  with  little 
lancet  digs.  I  protest  I  have  seen  my  own  wife  enduring  the 
impertinence  of  this  woman,  with  a  face  as  calm  and  placid  as 
she  wears  when  old  Twysden  himself  is  talking  to  her,  and 
pouring  out  one  of  his  maddening  long  stories.  Oh,  no  !  I  am 
not  angry  at  all.  I  can  see  that  by  the  way  in  which  I  am 
writing  of  these  folks.  By  the  way,  whilst  I  am  giving  this 
candid  opinion  of  the  Twysdens,  do  I  sometimes  pause  to 
consider  what  they  think  of  nie"^  What  do  I  care  ?  Think  what 
you  like.  Meanwhile  we  bow  to  one  another  at  parties.  We 
smile  at  each  other  in  a  sickly  way.  And  as  for  the  dinners  in 
Beaunash  Street,  I  hope  those  who  eat  them  enjoy  their  food. 

Twysden  is  one  of  the  chiefs  now  of  the  Powder  and 
Pomatum  Office,  (the  Pigtail  branch  was  finally  abolished  in 
1833,  after  the  Reform  Bill,  with  a  compensation  to  the  retiring 
under-secretary,)  and  his  son  is  a  clerk  in  the  same  office. 
When  they  came  out,  the  daughters  were  very  pretty — even  my 
wife  allows  that.  One  of  them  used  to  ride  in  the  Park  with 
her  father  or  brother  daily ;  and  knowing  what  his  salar}^  and 
wife's  fortune  were,  and  what  the  rent  of  his  house  in  Beaunash 
Street,  everybody  wondered  how  the  Twysdens  could  make 
both  ends  meet.  They  had  horses,  carriages,  and  a  great 
house  fit  for  at  least  five  thousand  a  year  •  they  had  not  half 
as  much,  as  ever}-body  knew ;  and  it  w-as  supposed  that  old 
Ringwood  must  make  his  niece  an  allowance.  She  certainly 
worked  hard  to  get  it.     I  spoke  of  stabs  anon,  and  poor  little 


130 


THE  AD  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


breasts  and  sides  scarred  all  over.  No  nuns,  no  monks,  no 
fakeers  take  whippings  more  kindly  than  some  devotees  of  the 
world  ;  and,  as  the  punishment  is  one  for  edification,  let  us 
hope  the  world  lays  smartly  on  to  back  and  shoulders,  and  uses 
the  thong  well. 

When  old  Ringwood,  at  the  close  of  his  lifetime,  used  to 
come  to  visit  his  dear  niece  and  her  husband  and  children,  he 
always  brought  a  cat-o'-nine-tails  in  his  pocket,  and  admin- 
istered it  to  the  whole  household.  He  grinned  at  the  poverty, 
the  pretence,  the  meanness  of  the  people,  as  they  knelt  before 
him  and  did  him  homage.  The  father  and  mother  trembling 
brought  the  girls  up  for  punishment,  and  piteously  smiling, 
received  their  own  boxes  on  the  ear  in  presence  of  their 
children.  "Ah!"  the  little  French  governess  used  to  say, 
grinding  her  white  teeth,  "  I  like  milor  to  come.  All  day  you 
vip  me.  When  milor  come,  he  vip  you,  and  you  kneel  down 
and  kiss  de  rod." 

They  certainly  knelt  and  took  their  whipping  with  the  most 
exemplary  fortitude.  Sometimes  the  lash  fell  on  papa's  back, 
sometimes  on  mamma's  :  now  it  stung  Agnes,  and  now  it  lighted 
on  Blanche's  pretty  shoulders.  But  I  think  it  was  on  the  heir 
of  the  house,  young  Ringwood  Tvvysden,  that  my  lord  loved 
best  to  operate.  Ring's  vanity  was  very  thin-skinned,  his  sel- 
fishness easily  wounded,  and  his  contortions  under  punishment 
amused  the  old  tormentor. 

As  my  lord's  brougham  drives  up — the  modest  little  brown 
brougham,  with  the  noble  horse,  the  lord  chancellor  of  a  coach- 
man, and  the  ineffable  footman — the  ladies,  who  know  the 
whirr  of  the  wheels,  and  may  be  quarrelling  in  the  drawing- 
room,  call  a  truce  to  the  fight,  and  smooth  down  their  ruffled 
tempers  and  raiment.  Mamma  is  writing  at  her  table,  in  that 
beautiful,  clear  hand  which  we  all  admire  ;  Blanche  is  at  her 
book  ;  Agnes  is  rising  from  the  piano  quite  naturally,  A  quarrel 
between  those  gentle,  smiling,  delicate  creatures  !  Impossible  ! 
About  your  most  common  piece  of  hypocrisy  how  men  will 
blush  and  bungle :  how  easily,  how  gracefully,  liow  consum- 
mately, women  will  perform  it ! 

"Well,"  growls  my  lord,  "you  are  all  in  such  pretty 
attitudes,  I  make  no  doubt  you  have  been  sparring.  I  suspect, 
Maria,  the  men  must  know  what  devilish  bad  tempers  the  girls 
have  got.  Who  can  have  seen  you  fighting  ?  You're  quiet 
enough  here,  you  little  monkeys.  I  tell  you  what  it  is.  Ladies'- 
maids  get  about  and  talk  to  the  valets  in  the  housekeeper's 
room,  and  the  men  tell  their  masters.     Upon  my  word  1  believe 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


131 


it  was  that  business  last  year  at  Wliipliam  whicli  frightened 
Greenwood  off.  Famous  match.  Good  house  in  town  and 
country.  No  mother  alive.  Agnes  might  have  had  it  her  own 
way,  but  for  that " 

"  We  are  not  all  angels  in  our  family,  uncle  !  "  cries  Miss 
Agnes,  reddening. 

"  And  your  mother  is  too  sharp.  The  men  are  afraid  of 
you,  Maria.  I've  heard  several  young  men  say  so.  At  White's 
they  talk  about  it  quite  freely.  Pity  for  the  girls.  Great  pity. 
Fellows  come  and  tell  me.  Jack  Hall,  and  fellows  who  go 
about  everywhere." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  what  Captain  Hall  says  about  me 
— odious  little  wretch  !  "  cries  Blanche. 

"  There  you  go  off  in  a  tantrum !  Hall  never  has  any 
opinion  of  his  own.  He  only  fetches  and  carries  what  other 
people  say.  And  he  says,  fellows  say  they  are  frightened  of 
your  mother.  La  bless  you  !  Hall  has  no  opinion.  A  fellow 
might  commit  murder,  and  Hall  would  wait  at  the  door.  Quite 
a  discreet  man.  But  I  told  him  to  ask  about  you.  And  that's 
what  I  hear.  And  he  says  that  Agnes  is  making  eyes  at  the 
doctor's  boy." 

"  It's  a  shame,"  cries  Agnes,  shedding  tears  under  her 
martyrdom. 

"  Older  than  he  is  ;  but  that's  no  obstacle.  Good-looking 
boy,  I  suppose  you  don't  object  to  that  .-*  Has  his  poor  mother's 
money,  and  his  father's :  must  be  well  to  do.  A  vulgar  fellow, 
but  a  clever  fellow,  and  a  determined  fellow,  the  doctor — and  a 
fellow  who,  I  suspect,  is  capable  of  anything.  Shouldn't  wonder 
at  that  fellow  marrying  some  rich  dowager.  Those  doctors  get 
an  immense  influence  over  women;  and  unless  I'm  mistaken 
in  my  man,  Maria,  j'our  poor  sister  got  hold  of  a " 

"  Uncle  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Twysden,  pointing  to  her  daughters, 
"  before  these " 

"  Before  those  innocent  lambs  !  Hem  !  Well,  I  think 
Firmin  is  of  the  wolf  sort :  "  and  the  old  noble  laughed,  and 
showed  his  own  fierce  fangs  as  he  spoke. 

''  I  grieve  to  say,  my  lord,  I  agree  with  you,"  remarks  Mr. 
Twysden.  "  I  don't  think  Firmin  a  man  of  high  principle.  A 
clever  man  ?  Yes.  An  accomplished  man  ?  Yes.  A  good 
physician  ?  Yes.  A  prosperous  man  ?  Yes.  But  what's  a 
man  without  principle  1  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  parson,  Twysden." 

"  Others  have  said  so,  my  lord.  My  poor  mother  often 
regretted  that  I  didn't  choose  the  Church.    When  I  was  at 


132 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHI  UP 


Cambridge  I  used  to  speak  constantly  at  the  Union.  I  practised 
I  do  not  disguise  from  you  that  my  aim  was  public  life.  1  am 
free  to  confess  I  think  the  House  of  Commons  would  have  been 
my  sphere  ;  and,  had  my  means  permitted,  should  certainly 
have  come  forward." 

Lord  Ringwood  smiled,  and  winked  to  his  niece — 

"  He  means,  my  dear,  that  he  would  like  to  wag  his  jaws 
at  my  expense,  and  that  I  should  put  him  in  for  Whipham." 

"  There  are,  I  think,  worse  Members  of  Parliament," 
remarked  Mr.  Twysden. 

"If  there  was  a  box  of  'em  like  you,  what  a  cage  it  would 
be !  "  roared  my  lord.  "  By  George,  I'm  sick  of  jaw.  And  1 
would  like  to  see  a  king  of  spirit  in  this  country,  who  would 
shut  up  the  talking-shops  and  gag  the  whole  chattering  crew  !  " 

"  I  am  a  partisan  of  order — but  a  lover  of  freedom," 
continues  Twysden.  "  1  hold  that  the  balance  of  our  consti- 
tution  " 

I  think  my  lord  would  have  indulged  in  a  few  of  those  oaths 
with  which  his  old-fashioned  conversation  was  liberally  gar- 
nished ;  but  the  servant,  entering  at  this  moment,  announces 
Mr.  Philip  Firmin  ;  and  ever  so  faint  a  blush  flutters  up  in 
Agnes'  cheek,  who  feels  that  the  old  lord's  eye  is  upon  her. 

"  So,  sir,  I  saw  you  at  the  Opera  last  night,"  says  Lord 
Ringwood. 

"  I  saw  you,  too,"  says  downright  Phil. 

The  women  looked  terrified,  and  Twysden  scared.  The 
Twysdens  had  Lord  Ringwood's  box  sometimes.  But  there 
were  boxes  in  which  the  old  man  sat,  and  in  which  they  never 
could  see  him. 

"Why  don't  you  look  at  the  stage,  sir,  when  you  go  to  the 
Opera,  and  not  at  me  ?  When  you  go  to  church  you  ought  to 
look  at  the  parson,  oughtn't  you  1  "  growled  the  old  man.  "  I'm 
about  as  good  to  look  at  as  the  fellow  who  dances  first  in  the 
ballet — and  very  nearly  as  old.  But  if  I  were  you,  I  should 
think  looking  at  the  Ellsler  better  fun." 

And  now  you  may  fancy  of  what  old,  old  times  we  are  wri- 
ting— times  in  which  those  horrible  old  male  dancers  yet  existed 
— hideous  old  creatures,  with  low  dresses  and  short  sleeves, 
and  wreaths  of  flowers,  or  hats  and  feathers  round  their  absurd 
old  wigs — who  skipped  at  the  head  of  the  ballet.  Let  us  be 
thankful  that  those  old  apes  have  almost  vanished  off  the  stage, 
and  left  it  in  possession  of  the  beauteous  bounders  of  the  other 
sex.  Ah,  my  dear  young  friends,  time  iviU  be  when  these  too 
will  cease  to  appear  more  than  mortally  beautiful !     To  Philip, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  133 

at  his  age,  they  yet  looked  as  lovely  as  houris.  As  this  time 
the  simply  young  fellow,  surveying  the  ballet  from  his  stall  at 
the  Opera,  mistook  carmine  for  blushes,  pearl-powder  for  native 
snows,  and  cotton-wool  for  natural  symmetry  ;  and  I  dare  say 
when  he  went  into  the  world  was  not  more  clear-sighted  about 
its  rouged  innocence,  its  padded  pretensions,  and  its  painted 
candor. 

Old  Lord  Ringwood  had  a  humorous  pleasure  in  petting 
and  coaxing  Philip  Firmin  before  Philip's  relatives  of  Peaunash 
Street.  Even  the  girls  felt  a  little  plaintive  envy  at  the  partiality 
which  uncle  Ringwood  exhibited  for  Phil ;  but  the  elder  Twys- 
dens  and  Ringwood  Twysden,  their  son,  writhed  with  agony 
at  the  preference  which  the  old  man  sometimes  showed  for  the 
doctor's  boy.  Phil  was  much  taller,  much  handsomer,  much 
stronger,  much  better  tempered,  and  much  richer,  than  young 
Twysden.  He  would  be  the  sole  inheritor  of  his  father's  fortune, 
and  had  his  mother's  thirty  thousand  pounds.  Even  when  they 
told  him  his  father  would  marry  again,  Phil  laughed,  and  did 
not  seem  to  care — "  I  wish  him  joy  of  his  new  wife,"  was  all  he 
could  be  got  to  say  :  "  when  he  gets  one,  I  suppose  I  shall  go 
into  chambers.  Old  Parr  Street  is  not  as  gay  as  Pall  IMall."  I 
am  not  angry  with  Mrs.  Twysden  for  having  a  little  jealousy  of 
her  nephew.  Her  boy  and  girls  were  the  fruit  of  a  dutiful  mar- 
riage ;  and  Phil  was  the  son  of  a  disobedient  child.  Her 
children  were  always  on  their  best  behavior  before  their 
great  uncle  ;  and  Phil  cared  for  him  no  more  than  for  any  other 
man  ;  and  he  liked  Phil  the  best.  Her  boy  was  as  humble 
and  eager  to  please  as  any  of  his  lordship's  humblest  hench- 
men ;  and  Lord  Ringwood  snapped  at  him,  browbeat  him,  and 
trampled  on  the  poor  darling's  tenderest  feelings,  and  treated 
him  scarcely  better  than  a  lacquey.  As  for  poor  Mr.  Twysden, 
my  lord  not  only  yawned  unreservedly  in  his  face — that  could 
not  be  helped  ;  poor  Talbot's  talk  set  many  of  his  acquaintance 
asleep — but  laughed  at  him,  interrupted  him,  and  told  him  to 
hold  his  tongue.  On  this  day,  as  the  family  sat  together  at  the 
pleasant  hour — the  before-dinner  hour — the  fireside  and  te?- 
table  hour — Lord  Ringwood  said  to  Phil — 

"  Dine  with  me  to-day,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why  does  he  not  ask  me,  with  my  powers  of  conversa- 
tion ? "  thought  old  Twysden  to  himself. 

"  Hang  him,  he  always  asks  that  beggar,"  writhed  young 
Twysden,  in  his  corner. 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,  can't  come.     Have  asked  some  fellows  to 
dine  at  the  'Blue  Posts,'  "  says  Phil. 


134 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


"  Confound  you,  sir,  why  don't  you  put  'em  off  ?  "  cries  the 
old  lord.     "  You'd  put  'em  off,  Twysden,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir !  "  the  heart  of  father  and  son  both  beat. 

"  You  know  you  would  ;  and  you  quarrel  with  this  boy  for 
not  throwing  his  friends  over.  Good-night,  Firmin,  since  you 
won't  come." 

And  with  this  my  lord  was  gone. 

The  two  gentlemen  of  the  house  glumly  looked  from  the  win- 
dow, and  saw  my  lord's  brougham  driven  swiftly  away  in  the  rain. 

"  I  hate  your  dining  at  those  horrid  taverns,"  whispered  a 
young  lady  to  Phillip. 

"  It  is  better  fun  than  dining  at  home,"  Philip  remarks, 

"  You  smoke  and  drink  too  much.  You  come  home  late, 
and  you  don't  live  in  a  proper  monde,  sir  ! "  continues  the 
young  lady. 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  You  must  dine  with  those  horrible  men," 
cries  Agnes  ;  "  else  you  might  have  gone  to  Lady  Pendleton's 
to-night." 

"  I  can  throw  over  the  men  easily  enough,  if  you  wish," 
answered  the  young  man. 

"I?  I  have  no  wish  of  the  sort.  Have  you  not  already 
refused  uncle  Ringwood  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  Lord  Ringwood,"  says  Phil,  with  a  tremor  in 
his  voice.     "  I  don't  know  there  is  much   I  would  refuse  you." 

"  You  silly  boy  !  What  do  I  ever  ask  you  to  do  that  you 
ought  to  refuse  1  I  want  you  to  live  in  our  world,  and  not 
with  your  dreadful  wild  Oxford  and  Temple  bachelors.  I 
don't  want  you  to  smoke.  I  want  you  to  go  into  the  world  of 
which  you  have  the  entree — and  you  refuse  your  uncle  on  ac- 
count of  some  horrid  engagement  at  a  tavern  !  " 

"  Shall  I  stop  here  1  Aunt,  will  you  give  me  some  dinner — 
here  ?  "  asks  the  young  man. 

"  We  have  dined  :  my  husband  and  son  dine  out,"  said 
gentle  Mrs.  Twysden. 

There  was  cold  mutton  and  tea  for  the  ladies  ;.  and  Mrs. 
Twysden  did  not  like  to  seat  her  nephew,  who  was  accustomed 
to  good  fare  and  high  living,  to  that  meagre  meal. 

"  You  see  I  must  console  myself  at  the  tavern,"  Philip  said. 
"  We  shall  have  a  pleasant  party  there." 

"  And  pray  who  makes  it  ?  "  asks  the  lady. 

"  There  is  Ridley  the  painter." 

"  My  dear  Philip  !  Do  you  know  that  his  father  was  actu- 
ally  " 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


'35 


"  In  the  service  of  Lord  Toclmorden  ?  He  often  tells  us  so. 
He  is  a  queer  character,  the  old  man." 

"  Mr.  Ridley  is  a  man  of  genius,  certainly.  His  pictures 
are  delicious,  and  he  goes  everywhere — but — but  you  provoke 
me,  Philip,  by  your  carelessness  ;  indeed  you  do.  Why  should 
you  be  dining  with  the  sons  of  footmen,  when  the  first  houses  in 
the  country  might  be  open  to  you  ?  You  pain  me,  you  foolish 
boy." 

"  For  dining  in  company  of  a  man  of  genius  ?  Come, 
Agnes  !  "  And  the  young  man's  brow  grew  dark.  "  Besides," 
he  added,  with  a  tone  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  which  Miss 
Agnes  did  not  like  at  all — ''besides,  my  dear,  you  know  he 
dines  at  Lord  Pendleton's." 

"  What  is  that  you  are  talking  of  Lady  Pendleton,  children  ?  " 
asked  watchful  mamma  from  her  corner. 

"  Ridley  dines  there.  He  is  going  to  dine  with  me  at  a 
tavern  to-day.  And  Lord  Halden  is  coming — and  Mr.  Winton 
is  coming — having  heard  of  the  famous  beefsteaks." 

"  Winton !  Lord  Halden  !  Beefsteaks  !  Where  ?  By 
George!  I  have  a  mind  to  go,  too!  Where  do  you  fellows 
dine?  an  cabaret  1  Hang  me,  I'll  be  one,"  shrieked  little  Twys- 
den,  to  the  terror  of  Philip,  who  knew  his  uncle's  awful  powers 
of  conversation.  But  Twysden  remembered  himself  in  good 
time,  and  to  the  intense  relief  of  young  Firniin.  "  Hang  me,  I 
forgot !  Your  aunt  and  I  dine  with  the  Bladeses.  Stupid  old 
fellow,  the  admiral,  and  bad  wine — which  is  unpardonable  ; 
but  we  must  go — on  n\t  que  saJ>arok,  hey  ?  Tell  Winton  that 
I  had  meditated  joining  him,  and  that  I  have  still  some  of  that 
Chateau  Margaux  he  liked.  Halden's  father  I  know  well. 
Tell  him  so.  Bring  him  here.  Maria,  send  a  Thursday  card 
to  Lord  Halden  !  You  must  bring  him  here  to  dinner,  Philip. 
That's  the  best  way  to  make  acquaintance,  my  boy  !  "  And 
the  little  man  swaggers  off,  waving  a  bed-candle,  as  if  he  was 
going  to  quaff  a  bumper  of  sparkling  spermaceti. 

The  mention  of  such  great  personages  as  Lord  Halden  and 
Mr.  Winton  silenced  the  reproofs  of  the  pensive  Agnes. 

"  You  won't  care  for  our  quiet  fireside  whilst  you  live  with 
those  fine  people,"  she  sighed.  There  was  no  talk  now  of  his 
throwing  himself  away  on  bad  company. 

So  Philip  did  not  dine  with  his  relatives  :  but  Talbot  Twys- 
den took  good  care  to  let  Lord  Ringwood  know  how  young 
Firmin  had  offered  to  dine  with  his  aunt  that  day  after  refusing 
his  lordship.  And  everything  to  Phil's  discredit,  and  every  act 
of  extravagance  or  wildness  which  the  young  man  committed, 


136  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

did  Phil's  uncle,  and  Phil's  cousin  Ringwood  Twysden,  convey 
to  the  old  nobleman.  Had  not  these  been  the  informers,  Lord 
Ringwood  would  have  been  angry  :  for  he  exacted  obedience 
and  servility  from  all  round  about  him.  But  it  was  pleasanter 
to  vex  the  Twysdens  than  to  scold  and  browbeat  Philip,  and  so 
his  lordship  chose  to  laugh  and  be  amused  at  Phil's  insubor- 
dination. Me  saw,  too,  other  things  of  which  he  did  not  speak. 
He  was  a  wily  old  man,  who  could  afford  to  be  blind  upon  oc- 
casion. 

What  do  you  judge  from  the  fact  that  Philip  was  ready  to 
make  or  break  engagements  at  a  young  lady's  instigation  ? 
When  you  were  twenty  years  old,  had  no  young  ladies  an  in- 
fluence over  _jw^ .?  Were  they  not  commonly  older  than  your- 
self ?  Did  your  youthful  passion  lead  to  anything,  and  are  you 
very  sorry  now  that  it  did  not  ?  Suppose  you  had  your  soul's 
wish  and  married  her,  of  what  age  would  she  be  now  ?  And 
now  when  you  go  into  the  world  and  see  her,  do  you  on  your 
conscience  very  much  regret  that  the  little  affair  came  to  an  end  ? 
Is  it  that  (lean,  or  fat,  or  stumpy,  or  tall)  woman  with  all  those 
children  whom  you  once  chose  to  break  your  heart  about ;  and 
do  you  still  envy  Jones  ?  Philip  was  in  love  with  his  cousin, 
no  doubt,  but  at  the  university  had  he  not  been  previously  in 
love  with  the  Tomkinsian  professor's  daughter  INIiss  Pudd  ; 
and  had  he  not  already  written  verses  to  Miss  Flower,  his 
neighbor's  daughter  in  Old  Parr  Street  ?  And  don't  young  men 
always  begin  by  falling  in  love  with  ladies  older  than  them- 
selves ?  Agnes  certainly  was  Philip's  senior,  as  her  sister  con- 
stantly took  care  to  inform  him. 

And  Agnes  might  have  told  stories  about  Blanche,  if  she 
chose — as  you  may  about  me,  and  I  about  you.  Not  quite  true 
stories,  but  stories  with  enough  alloy  of  lies  to  make  them 
serviceable  coin ;  stories  such  as  we  hear  daily  in  the  world  ; 
stories  such  as  we  read  in  the  most  learned  and  conscientious 
history-books,  which  are  told  by  the  most  respectable  persons, 
and  perfectly  authentic  until  contradicted.  It  is  only  our  his- 
tories that  can't  be  contradicted  (unless,  to  be  sure,  novelists 
contradict  themselves,  as  sometimes  they  will ).  What  aue  say 
about  people's  virtues,  failings,  characters,  you  may  be  sure  is 
all  true.  And  I  defy  any  man  to  assert  that  my  opinion  of  the 
Twysden  family  is  malicious,  or  unkind  or  unfounded  in  any 
particular.  Agnes  wrote  verses,  and  set  her  own  and  other 
writers'  poems  to  music.  Blanche  was  scientific,  and  attended 
the  Albemarle  Street  lectures  sedulously.  They  are  both  clever 
women  as  times  go ;  well  educated  and  accomplished,  and  very 


ON  iris  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WO  RID.  137 

well  mannered  when  they  choose  to  be  pleasant.  If  you  were 
a  bachelor,  say,  with  a  good  fortune,  or  a  widower  who  wanted 
consolation,  or  a  lady  giving  very  good  parties  and  belonging 
to  the  7no?idc,  you  would  find  them  agreeable  people.  If  you 
were  a  little  Treasury  clerk,  or  a  young  barrister  with  no  prac- 
tice, or  a  lady,  old  or  young,  not  quite  of  the  monde,  your  opin- 
ion of  them  would  not  be  so  favorable.  I  have  seen  them  cut, 
and  scorn,  and  avoid,  and  caress,  and  kneel  down  and  worship 
the  same  person.  When  IMrs.  Lovel  first  gave  parties,  don't  1 
remember  the  shocked  countenances  of  the  Twysden  family  ? 
Were  ever  shoulders  colder  than  yours,  dear  girls  ?  Now  they 
love  her ;  they  fondle  her  step-children  ;  they  praise  her  to  her 
face  and  behind  her  handsome  back  ;  they  take  her  hand  in 
public ;  they  call  her  by  her  Christian  name ;  they  fall  into 
ecstasies  over  her  toilettes,  and  would  fetch  coals  for  her  dress- 
ing-room fire  if  she  but  gave  them  the  word.  She  is  not  changed. 
She  is  the  same  lady  who  once  was  a  governess,  and  no  colder 
and  no  w-armer  since  then.  But  you  see  her  prosperity  has 
brought  virtues  into  evidence,  which  people  did  not  perceive 
when  she  was  poor.  Could  people  see  Cinderella's  beauty 
when  she  was  in  rags  by  the  fire,  or  untill  she  stepped  out  of 
her  fairy  c(^ch  in  her  diamonds  ?  How  are  you  to  recognize  a 
diamond  in  a  dusthole  ?  Only  very  clever  eyes  can  do  that. 
W'hereas  a  lady  in  a  fairy  coach  and  eight  naturally  creates  a 
sensation  ;  and  enraptured  princes  come  and  beg  to  have  the 
honor  of  dancing  with  her. 

In  the  character  of  infallible  historian,  then,  I  declare  that 
if  Miss  Twysden  at  three-and-twenty  feels  ever  so  much  or  little 
attachment  for  her  cousin  who  is  not  yet  of  age,  there  is  no 
reason  to  be  angry  with  her.  A  brave,  handsome,  blundering, 
downright  young  fellow,  with  broad  shoulders,  high  spirits,  and 
quite  fresh  blushes  on  his  face,  with  veiy  good  talents,  (though 
he  has  been  wofully  idle,  and  requested  to  absent  himself  tem- 
porarily from  his  university,)  the  possessor  of  a  competent  for- 
tune and  the  heir  of  another,  may  naturally  make  some  impres- 
sion on  a  lady's  heart  with  whomkinsmanship  and  circumstance 
bring  him  into  daily  communion.  When  had  any  sound  so 
hearty  as  Phil's  laugh  been  heard  in  Beaunash  Street?  His 
jolly  frankness  touched  his  aunt,  a  clever  woman.  She  would 
smile  and  say,  "  My  dear  Philip,  it  is  not  only  what  you  say, 
but  what  you  are  going  to  say  next,  keeps  me  in  such  a  per- 
petual tremor."  There  may  have  been  a  time  once  when  she 
was  frank  and  cordial  herself  :  ever  so  long  ago,  when  she  and 
her  sister  were  two  blooming  girls,  lovingly  clinging  together, 


138  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  riTTLTP 

and  just  stepping  forth  into  the  world.  But  if  you  succeed  in 
keeping  a  fine  house  on  a  small  income  ;  in  showing  a  cheerful 
face  to  the  world  though  oppressed  with  ever  so  much  care  ;  in 
bearing  with  dutiful  reverence  an  intolerable  old  bore  of  a  hus- 
band (and  I  vow  it  is  this  quality  in  Mrs.  Twysden  for  which  I 
most  admire  her)  ;  in  submitting  to  defeats  patiently  ;  to  humili- 
ations with  smiles,  so  as  to  hold  your  own  in  your  darling 
7}iondc  ;  you  may  succeed,  but  you  must  give  up  being  frank  and 
cordial.  The  marriage  of  her  sister  to  the  doctor  gave  Maria 
Ringwood  a  great  panic,  for  Lord  Ringwood  was  furious  wlien 
the  news  came.  Then,  perhaps,  she  sacrificed  a  little  private 
passion  of  her  own  :  then  she  set  her  cap  at  a  noble  young 
neighbor  of  my  lord's,  who  jilted  her ;  then  she  took  up  with 
Talbot  Twysden,  Esquire,  of  the  Powder  and  Pomatum  Office, 
and  made  a  very  faithful  wife  to  him,  and  was  a  very  careful 
mother  to  his  children.  But  as  for  frankness  and  cordiality, 
my  good  friend,  accept  from  a  lady  what  she  can  give  you — 
good  manners,  pleasant  talk,  and  decent  attention.  If  you  go 
to  her  breakfast-table,  don't  ask  for  a  roc's  ^^g^  but  eat  that 
moderately  fresh  hen's  egg  which  John  brings  you.  When  Mrs. 
Twysden  is  in  her  open  carriage  in  the  Park,  how  prosperous, 
handsome,  and  jolly  she  looks — the  girls  how  smiling  and 
young  (that  is,  you  know,  considering  all  things)  ;  the  horses 
look  fat,  the  coachman  and  footman  wealthy  and  sleek  ;  they 
exchange  bows  with  the  tenants  of  other  carriages — well  known 
aristocrats.  Jones  and  Brown,  leaning  over  the  railings  and 
seeing  the  Twysden  equipage  pass,  have  not  the  slightest  doubt 
that  it  contains  people  of  the  highest  wealth  and  fashion.  "  I 
say,  Jones  my  boy,  what  noble  family  lias  the  motto  Wei  done 
T7vys  donel  and  what  clipping  girls  there  were  in  that  barouche  !" 
B.  remarks  to  J. ;  "  and  what  a  handsome  young  swell  that  is 
riding  the  bay  mare,  and  leaning  over  and  talking  to  the  yellow- 
haired  girl !  "  And  it  is  evident  to  one  of  those  gentlemen,  at 
least,  that  he  has  been  looking  at  your  regular  first-rate  tiptop 
•people. 

As  for  Phil  Firmin  on  his  bay  mare,  with  his  geranium  in 
his  button-hole,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Philippus  looks  as 
handsome,  and  as  rich,  and  as  brave  as  any  lord.  And  I  think 
Brown  must  have  felt  a  little  pang  when  his  friend  told  him, 
"That  a  lord  !  Bless  you,  it's  only  a  swell  doctor's  son."  But 
while  J.  and  B.  fancy  all  the  little  party  very  happy,  they  do 
not  hear  Phil  whisper  to  his  cousin,  "I  hope  you  liked  jw/r 
partner  last  night  ? "  and  they  do  not  see  how  anxious  Mrs. 
Twysden   is    under   her    smiles,  how    she   perceives   Colonel 


o.v ms  WAY  TirROUGir  tt/e  world.  i^n 

Shafto's  cab  coming  up  (the  dancer  in  question),  and  how  she 
would  rather  have  Phil  anywhere  than  by  that  particular  wheel 
of  her  carriage ;  how  Lady  Braglands  has  just  passed  them  by 
without  noticing  them — Lady  Braglands,  who  has  a  ball,  and  is 
determined  not  to  ask  that  woman  and  her  two  endless  girls ; 
and  how,  though  Lady  Braglands  won't  see  Mrs.  Twysden  in 
her  great  staring  equipage,  and  the  three  faces  which  have 
been  beaming  smiles  at  her,  she  instantly  perceives  Lady  Lovel, 
who  is  passing  ensconced  in  her  little  brougham,  and  kisses 
her  fingers  twenty  times  over.  How  should  poor  J.  and  B., 
who  are  not,  vous  comJ>rejiez,  du  mojide,  understand  these 
mysteries .'' 

"  That's  young  Firmin,  is  it,  that  handsome  3'Oung  fellow  .''  " 
says  Brown  to  Jones. 

"  Doctor  married  the  Earl  of  Ringwood's  niece — ran  away 
with  her,  you  know." 

"  Good  practice  ?  " 

*'  Capital.  First-rate.  All  the  tiptop  people.  Great  ladies' 
doctor.  Can't  do  without  him.  Makes  a  fortune,  besides  what 
he  had  with  his  wife." 

"  We've  seen  his  name — the  old  man's — on  some  very  queer 
paper,"  says  B.,  with  a  wink  to  J.  By  which  I  conclude  they 
are  city  gentlemen.  And  they  look  very  hard  at  friend  Philip, 
as  he  comes  to  talk  and  shake  hands  with  some  pedestrians 
who  are  gazing  over  the  railings  at  the  busy  and  pleasant  Park 
scene. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   NOBLE   KINSMAN. 


Having  had  occasion  to  mention  a  noble  earl  once  or  twice, 
I  am  sure  no  polite  reader  will  consent  that  his  lordship  should 
push  through  this  history  along  with  the  crowd  of  commoner 
characters,  and  without  a  special  word  regarding  himself.  If 
you  are  in  the  least  familiar  with  Burke  or  Debrett,  you  know 
that  the  ancient  family  of  Ringwood  has  long  been  famous  for 
its  great  possessions,  and  its  loyalty  to  the  British  crown. 

In  the  troubles  which  unhappily  agitated  this  kingdom  affer 
the  deposition  of  the  late  reigning  house,  the  Ringwoods  were 


140  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

implicated  with  many  othc*r  families,  but  on  the  accession  of 
his  Majesty  George  II J.  these  differences  happily  ended,  nor 
had  the  monarch  any  subject  more  loyal  and  devoted  than  Sir 
John  Ivingwood,  Uaronet,  of  Wingate  and  Whipham  Market. 
Sir  John's  influence  sent  three  members  to  Parliament ;  and 
during  the  dangerous  and  \exatious  period  of  the  American 
war,  this  influence  was  exerted  so  cordially  and  consistently  in 
the  cause  of  order  and  the  crown,  that  his  Majesty  saw  fit  to 
advance  Sir  John  to  the  dignity  of  Baron  Ringwood,  Sir  John's 
brother,  Sir  Francis  Ringwood,  of  Appleshaw,  who  followed  the 
profession  of  the  law,  also  was  promoted  to  be  a  Baron  of  his 
Majesty's  Court  of  Exchequer.  The  first  Baron,  dying  a.  d. 
1786,  was  succeeded  by  the  eldest  of  his  two  sons  —  John, 
second  Baron  and  first  Earl  of  Ringwood.  His  lordship's 
brother,  the  Honorable  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  died  glori- 
ously, at  the  head  of  his  regiment  and  in  the  defence  of  his 
country,  in  the  battle  of  Busaco,  18 10,  leaving  two  daughters, 
Louisa  and  Maria,  who  henceforth  lived  with  the  earl  their 
uncle. 

The  Earl  of  Ringwood  had  but  one  son,  Charles  Viscount 
Cinqbars,  who,  unhappily,  died  of  a  decline  in  his  twenty-second 
year.  And  thus  the  descendants  of  Sir  Francis  Ringwood 
became  heirs  to  the  earl's  great  estates  of  Wingate  and  Whip- 
ham  Market,  though  not  of  the  peerages  which  had  been 
conferred  on  the  earl  and  his  father. 

Lord  Ringwood  had,  li\'ing  with  him,  two  nieces,  daughters 
of  his  late  brother,  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  who  fell  in  the 
Peninsular  War.  Of  these  ladies,  the  youngest,  Louisa,  was 
his  lordship's  favorite  ;  and  though  both  the  ladies  had  consid- 
erable fortunes  of  their  own,  it  was  supposed  their  uncle  would 
further  provide  for  them,  especially  as  he  was  on  no  very  good 
terms  with  his  cousin,  Sir  John  of  the  Shaw,  who  took  the  Whig 
side  in  politics,  whilst  his  lordship  was  a  chief  of  the  Tory 
party. 

Of  these  two  nieces,  the  eldest,  Maria,  never  any  great 
favorite  with  her  uncle,  married,  1824,  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq.,  a 
Commissioner  of  Powder  and  Pomatum  Tax;  but  the  youngest, 
Louisa,  incurred  my  lord's  most  serious  anger  by  eloping  with 
George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  a  young  gentleman  of  Cam- 
bridge Uni\ersity,  who  had  been  with  Lord  Cinqbars  when  he 
died  at  Naples,  and  had  brought  home  his  body  to  Wingate 
Castle. 

The  quarrel  with  the  youngest  niece,  and  the  indifference 
with  which  he  -cnerally  regarded  the  elder  (whom  his  lordship 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  141 

was  in  the  habit  of  calUng  an  old  schemer),  occasioned  at  first 
a  little  rapprochement  between  Lord  Ringwood  and  his  heir,  Sir 
John  of  Appleshaw ;  but  both  gentlemen  were  very  firm,  not  to 
to  say  obstinate,  in  their  natures.  They  had  a  quarrel  with 
respect  to  the  cutting  off  of  a  small  entailed  property,  of  which 
the  earl  wished  to  dispose  ;  and  they  parted  with  much  rancor 
and  bad  language  on  his  lordship's  part,  who  was  an  especially 
free-spoken  nobleman,  and  apt  to  call  a  spade  a  spade,  as  the 
saying  is. 

After  this  difference,  and  to  spite  his  heir,  it  was  supposed 
that  the  Earl  of  Ringwood  would  marry.  He  was  little  more 
than  seventy  years  of  age,  and  had  once  been  of  a  very  robust 
constitution.  And  though  his  temper  was  violent  and  his 
person  not  at  all  agreeable  (for  even  in  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence's 
picture  his  countenance  is  very  ill-favored),  there  is  little  doubt 
he  could  have  found  a  wife  for  the  asking  among  the  young 
beauties  of  his  own  county,  or  the  fariest  of  May  Fair. 

But  he  was  a  cynical  nobleman,  and  perhaps  morbidly 
conscious  of  his  own  ungainly  appearance.  "  Of  course  I  can 
buy  a  wife  "  (his  lordship  would  say).  "  Do  you  suppose 
people  won't  sell  their  daughters  to  a  man  of  my  rank  and 
means  ?  Now  look  at  me,  my  good  sir,  and  say  whether  any 
woman  alive  could  fall  in  love  with  me  ?  I  have  been  married, 
and  once  was  enough.  I  hate  ugly  women,  and  your  virtuous 
women,  who  tremble  and  cry  in  private,  and  preach  at  a  man, 
bore  me.  Sir  John  Ringwood  of  Appleshaw  is  an  ass,  and  I 
hate  him  ;  but  I  don't  hate  him  enough  to  make  myself  miserable 
for  the  rest  of  my  days,  in  order  to  spite  him.  When  I  drop,  I 
drop.  Do  you  suppose  I  care  what  comes  after  me  ? "  And 
with  much  sardonical  humor  this  old  lord  used  to  play  off  one 
good  dowager  after  another  who  would  bring  her  girl  in  his 
way.  He  would  send  pearls  to  Emily,  diamonds  to  Fanny, 
opera-boxes  to  lively  Kate,  books  of  devotion  to  pious  Belinda 
and,  at  the  season's  end,  drive  back  to  his  lonely  great  castle  in 
the  west.  They  were  all  the  same,  such  was  his  lordship's 
opinion.  I  fear,  a  wicked  and  corrupt  old  gentleman,  my  dears. 
But  ah,  would  not  a  woman  submit  to  some  sacrifices  to  reclaim 
that  unhappy  man  ;  to  lead  that  gifted  but  lost  being  into  the 
ways  of  right ;  to  convert  to  a  belief  in  woman's  purity  that 
erring  soul  ?  They  tried  him  with  high-church  altar-cloths  for 
his  chapel  at  Wingate  ;  they  tried  him  with  low-church  tracts  ; 
they  danced  before  him  ;  they  jumped  fences  on  horseback  : 
they  wore  bandeaux  or  ringlets,  according  as  his  taste  dictated  ; 
they  were  always  at  home  when  he  called,  and  poor  you  and  I 


£42 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PJIILIP 


were  gruffly  told  they  were  engaged  ;  they  gushed  in  gratitude 
over  his  bouquets ;  they  sang  for  him,  and  their  mothers, 
concealing  their  sobs,  murmured,  "  What  an  angel  that  Cecilia 
of  mine  is  ?  "  P^\ery  variety  of  delicious  chaff  they  flung  to 
that  old  bird.  But  he  was  uncaught  at  the  end  of  the  season  : 
he  winged  his  way  back  to  his  western  hills.  And  if  you  dared 
to  say  that  Mrs.  Netley  had  tried  to  take  him,  or  Lady  Trap- 
boys  had  set  a  snare  for  him,  you  know  you  were  a  wicked, 
gross  caluminator,  and  notorious  everywhere  for  your  dull  and 
vulgar  abuse  of  women. 

Now,  in  the  year  1830,  it  happened  that  this  great  nobleman 
was  seized  with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  which  had  very  nearly 
consigned  his  estates  to  his  kinsman  the  Baronet  of  Appleshaw. 
A  revolution  took  place  in  a  neighboring  State.  An  illustrious 
reigning  family  was  expelled  from  its  country,  and  projects  of 
reform  (which  would  jDretty  certainly  end  in  revolution)  were 
rife  in  ours.  The  events  in  France,  and  those  pending  at  home, 
so  agitated  Lord  Ringwood's  mind,  that  he  was  attacked  by  one 
of  the  severest  fits  of  gout  under  which  he  ever  suflered.  His 
shrieks,  as  he  was  brought  out  of  his  yacht  at  Ryde  to  a  house 
taken  for  him  in  the  town,  were  dreadful ;  his  language  to  all 
persons  about  him  was  frightfully  expressive,  as  Lady  Quamley 
and  her  daughter,  who  sailed  with  him  several  times,  can  vouch. 
An  ill  return  that  rude  old  man  made  for  all  their  kindness  and 
attention  to  him.  They  had  danced  on  board  his  yacht ;  they 
had  dined  on  board  his  yacht ;  they  had  been  out  sailing  with 
him,  and  cheerfully  braved  the  inconveniences  of  the  deep  in  his 
company.  And  when  they  ran  to  the  side  of  his  chair — • 
as  what  would  they  not  do  to  soothe  an  old  gentleman  in 
illness  and  distress } — when  they  ran  up  to  his  chair  as  it  was 
wheeled  along  the  pier,  he  called  mother  and  daughter  by  the 
most  vulgar  and  opprobrious  names,  and  roared  out  to  them  to 
go  to  a  place  which  I  certainly  shall  not  more  particularly 
mention. 

Now  it  happened,  at  this  period,  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  J'"irmin 
were  at  ]\.yde  with  their  little  boy,  then  some  three  years  of 
age.  The  doctor  was  already  taking  his  place  as  one  of  the 
most  fashionable  physicians  then  in  London,  and  had  begun  to 
be  celebrated  for  the  treatment  of  this  especial  malady, 
(Firmin  on  "  Gout  and  Rheumatism "  was,  you  remember, 
dedicated  to  his  Majesty  George  IV.)  Lord  Ringwood's  valet 
bethought  him  of  calling  the  doctor  in,  and  mentioned  how  he 
was  present  in  the  town.  Now  Lord  Ringwood  was  a  noble- 
man who  ne\'er  would  allow  his  angry  feelings  to  stand  in  the 


ON  Ills  WAY  THJWUGH  THE   WORLD 


14:: 


way  of  his  present  comforts  or  ease.  He  instantly  desired  Mr. 
Firman's  attendance,  and  submitted  to  his  treatment :  a  part  of 
which  was  a  Jtautenr  to  the  full  as  great  as  that  which  the  sick 
man  exhibited.  Firmin's  appearance  was  so  tall  and  grand, 
that  he  looked  vastly  more  noble  than  a  great  many  noblemen. 
Six  feet,  a  high  manner,  a  polished  forehead,  a  flashing  eye,  a 
snowy  shirt-frill,  a  rolling  velvet  collar,  a  beautiful  hand 
appearing  under  a  velvet  cuff — all  these  advantages  he 
possessed  and  used.  He  did  not  make  the  slightest  allusion  to 
bygones,  but  treated  his  patient  with  a  perfect  courtesy  and  an 
impenetrable  self-possession. 

This  defiant  and  darkling  politeness  did  not  always  dis- 
please the  old  man.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  slavish  compli- 
ance and  eager  obedience  from  all  people  round  about  him,  that 
he  sometimes  wearied  of  their  servility,  and  relished  a  little 
independence.  Was  it  from  calculation,  or  because  he  was  a 
man  of  high  spirit,  that  Firmin  determined  to  maintain  an  inde- 
pendent course  with  his  lordship .''  From  the  first  day  of  their 
meeting  he  never  departed  from  it,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of 
meeting  with  only  civil  behavior  from  his  noble  relative  and 
patient,  who  was  notorious  for  his  rudeness  and  brutality  to 
almost  every  person  who  came  in  his  way. 

From  hints  which  his  lordship  gave  in  conversation,  he 
showed  the  doctor  that  he  was  acquainted  with  some  particulars 
of  the  latter's  early  career.  It  had  been  wild  and  stormy. 
Firmin  had  incurred  debts ;  had  quarrelled  with  his  father ; 
had  left  the  university  and  gone  abroad  ;  had  lived  in  a  wild 
society,  which  used  dice  and  cards  every  night,  and  pistols 
sometimes  in  the  morning  ;  and  had  shown  a  fearful  dexterity 
in  the  use  of  the  latter  instrument,  which  he  employed  against 
the  person  of  a  famous  Italian  adventurer,  who  fell  under  his 
Iiand  at  Naples.  When  this  century  was  five-and-twenty  years, 
younger,  the  crack  of  the  pistol-shot  might  still  occasionally  be 
heard  in  the  suburbs  of  London  in  the  very  early  morning;  and 
the  dice-lDox  went  round  in  many  a  haunt  of  pleasure.  The 
knights  of  the  Four  Kings  travelled  from  capital  to  capital,  and 
engaged  each  other  or  made  pray  of  the  unwary.  Now,  the 
times  are  changed.  The  cards  are  confined  in  their  boxes. 
Only  sous-officicrs,  brawling  in  their  provincial  cafe's  over  their 
dominos,  fight  duels.  "  Ahj  dear  me,"  I  heard  a  veteran  punter 
sigh  the  other  day  at  Bays's,  "  isn't  it  a  melancholy  thing  to 
think,  that  if  I  wanted  to  amuse  myself  with  a  fifty-pound  note, 
I  don't  know  the  place  in  London  where  I  could  go  and  lose 
it?"     And  he  fondly  recounted  the  names  of  twenty  places 


144 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PinLIP 


where  he  could  have  cheerfully  staked  and  lost  his  money  in  his 
young  time. 

After  a  somewhat  prolonged  absence  abroad,  Mr.  Firmin 
came  back  to  this  country,  was  permitted  to  return  to  the  uni- 
versity, and  left  it  with  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Medicine. 
We  have  told  how  he  ran  away  with  Lord  Ringw'ood's  niece, 
and  incurred  the  anger  of  that  nobleman.  Beyond  abuse  and 
anger  his  lordship  was  powerless.  The  young  lady  was  free  to 
"marry  whom  she  liked,  and  her  uncle  to  disown  or  receive  him  ; 
and  accordingly  she  was,  as  we  have  seen,  disowned  by  his 
lordship,  until  he  found  it  convenient  to  forgive  her.  What 
were  Lord  Ringwood's  intentions  regarding  his  property,  what 
were  his  accumulations,  and  who  his  heirs  would  be,  no  one 
knew.  Meanwhile,  of  course,  there  were  those  who  felt  a  very 
great  interest  on  the  point.  Mrs.  Twysden  and  her  husband 
and  children  were  hungry  and  poor.  If  uncle  Ring^vood  had 
money  to  leave,  it  would  be  very  welcome  to  those  three  dar- 
lings whose  father  had  not  a  great  income  like  Dr.  Firmin. 
Philip  was  a  dear,  good,  frank,  amiable,  wild  fellow,  and  they 
all  loved  him.  But  he  had  his  faults — that  could  not  be  con- 
cealed— and  so  poor  Phil's  faults  were  pretty  constantly  can- 
vassed before  uncle  Ringwood,  by  dear  relatives  who  knew  them 
only  too  well.  The  dear  relatives  !  How  kind  they  are  !  I 
don't  think  Phil's  aunt  abused  him  to  my  lord.  That  quiet  wo- 
man calmly  and  gently  put  forward  the  claims  of  her  own  dar- 
lings, and  affectionately  dilated  on  the  young  man's  present 
prosperity,  and  magnificent  future  prospects.  The  interest  of 
thirty  thousand  pounds  now,  and  the  inheritance  of  his  father's 
great  accumulations  !  What  young  man  could  want  for  more  ? 
Perhaps  he  had  too  much  already.  Perhaps  he  was  too  rich  to 
work.  The  sly  old  peer  acquiesced  in  his  niece's  statements, 
and  perfectly  understood  the  point  towards  which  they  tended. 
"  A  thousand  a  year  !  What's  a  thousand  a  year  ?  "  growled 
the  old  lord.  "  Not  enough  to  make  a  gentleman,  more  than 
enough  to  make  a  fellow  idle." 

"  Ah,  indeed,  it  was  but  a  small  income,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Twysden.  "  With  a  large  house,  a  good  establishment,  and 
Mr,  Twysden's  salary  from  his  office — it  was  but  a  pittance." 

"  Pittance  !  Starvation,"  growls  my  lord,  with  his  usual 
frankness.  "  Don't  I  know  what  housekeeping  costs  ;  and  see 
how  you  screw  ?  Butlers  and  footmen,  carriages  and  job-horses, 
rent  and  dinners — though  yours,  Maria,  are  not  famous." 

"Very  bad — I  know  they  are  very  bad,"  says  the  contrite 
lady.     *•  .1  wish  we  could  ailford  any  better." 


ON  HIS  WA  V  TimOUGIT  THE  WORLD. 


MS 


"Afford  any  better?  Of  course  you  can't.  You  ara  the 
crockery  pots,  and  you  swim  down  stream  with  the  brass  pots. 
I  saw  Twysden  the  other  day  walking  down  St.  James's  Street 
with  Rhodes — that  tall  fellow."  (Here  my  lord  laughed,  and 
showed  many  fangs,  the  exhibition  of  which  gave  a  pecu- 
liarly fierce  air  to  his  lordship  when  in  good-humor.)  "  If 
Twysden  walks  with  a  big  fellow,  he  always  tries  to  keep  step 
with  him.  You  know  that."  Poor  Maria  naturally  knew  her 
husband's  peculiarities  ;  but  she  did  not  say  that  she  had  no 
need  to  be  reminded  of  them. 

"  He  was  so  blown  he  could  hardly  speak,"  continued  uncle 
Ringwood  ;  "  but  he  would  stretch  his  little  legs,  and  tr)^  and 
keep  up.  He  has  a  little  body,  le  cher  mari,  but  a  good  pluck. 
Those  little  fellows  often  have.  I've  seen  him  half  dead  out 
shooting,  and  plunging  over  the  ploughed  fields  after  fellows 
with  twice  his  stride.  Why  don't  men  sink  in  the  world,  I  want 
to  know  ?  Instead  of  a  fine  house,  and  a  parcel  of  idle  ser- 
vants, why  don't  you  have  a  maid  and  a  leg  of  mutton,  Maria  ? 
You  go  half  crazy  in  trying  to  make  both  ends  meet.  You 
know  you  do.  It  keeps  you  a,wake  of  nights  ;  /know  that  very 
well.  You've  got  a  house  fit  for  people  with  four  times  your 
money.  I  lend  you  my  cook  and  so  forth  ;  but  I  can't  come 
and  dine  with  you  unless  I  send  the  wine  in.  Why  don't  you 
have  a  pot  of  porter,  and  a  joint,  or  some  tripe? — tripe's  a 
famous  good  thing.  Tlie  miseries  which  people  entail  on  them- 
selves in  trying  to  live  be3'ond  their  means  are  perfectly  ridicu- 
lous, by  George  !  Look  at  that  fellow  who  opened  the  door 
to  me ;  he's  as  tall  as  one  of  my  own  men.  Go  and  live  in  a 
quiet  little  street  in  Belgravia  somewhere,  and  have  a  neat  little 
maid.  Nobody  will  think  a  penny  the  worse  of  you — and  you 
will  be  just  as  w  ell  off  as  if  you  lived  here  with  an  extra  couple 
of  thousand  a  year.  The  advice  I  am  giving  you  is  worth  half 
that,  every  shilling  of  it." 

"  It  is  very  good  advice  ;  but  I  think,  sir,  I  should  prefer 
the  thousand  pounds,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Of  course  you  would.  That  is  the  consequence  of  your 
false  position.  One  of  the  good  points  about  that  doctor  is, 
that  he  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  so  is  his  boy.  They  are 
not  always  hungering  after  money.  They  keep  their  indepen- 
dence ;  though  he'll  have  his  own  too,  the  fellow  will.  Why, 
when  I  first  called  him  in,  I  thought,  as  he  was  a  relation,  he'd 
doctor  me  for  nothing  ;  but  he  wouldn't.  He  would  have  his 
fee,  by  George  !  and  wouldn't  come  without  it.  Confounded 
independent  fellow  Firmin  is.     And  so  is  the  young  one." 


jr^G  THE  ADVENrURES  OE  PHILIP 

Uut  when  Twysclen  and  his  son  (perhaps  hispirited  by  Mrs. 
Twysdcn)  tried  once  or  twice  to  be  independent  in  the  presence 
of  this  Hon,  he  roared,  and  he  rushed  at  them,  and  he  rent 
them,  so  that  they  fled  from  him  howhng.  And  this  reminds 
me  of  an  old  story  I  have  heard — quite  an  old,  old  story,  such  as 
kind  old  fellows  at  clubs  love  to  remember — of  my  lord,  when 
he  was  only  Lord  Cinqbars,  insulting  a  half-pay  lieutenant,  in 
his  own  county,  who  horsewhipped  his  lordsiiip  in  the  most 
private  and  ferocious  manner.  It  was  said  Lord  Cinqbars 
had  had  a  rencontre  with  poachers  ;  but  it  was  my  lord  who  was 
poaching  and  the  lieutenant  who  was  defending  his  own  dove- 
cot. 1  do  not  say  that  this  was  a  model  nobleman  ;  but  that, 
when  his  own  passions  or  interests  did  not  mislead  him,  he  was 
a  nobleman  of  very  considerable  acuteness,  humor,  and  good 
sense  ;  and  could  give  quite  good  advice  on  occasion.  If  men 
would  kneel  down  and  kiss  his  boots,  well  and  good.  There 
was  the  blacking,  and  you  were  welcome  to  embrace  toe  and 
heel.  But  those  who  would  not,  were  free  to  leave  the  opera- 
tion alone.  The  Pope  himself  does  not  demand  the  cere- 
mony from  Protestants ;  and  if  tbey  object  to  the  slipper,  no 
one  thinks  of  forcing  it  into  their  mouths.  Phil  and  his 
father  probably  declined  to  tremble  before  the  old  man,  not 
because  they  knew  he  was  a  bully  who  might  be  put  down,  but 
because  they  were  men  of  spirit,  who  cared  not  whether  a  man 
was  bully  or  no. 

I  have  told  you  I  like  Philip  Firmin,  though  it  must  be 
confessed  that  the  young  fellow  had  many  faults,  and  that  his 
career,  especially  his  early  career,  was  by  no  means  exemplary. 
Have  I  ever  excused  his  conduct  to  his  father,  or  said  a  word 
in  apology  of  his  brief  and  inglorious  university  career  ?  I  ac- 
knowledge his  shortcomings  with  that  candor  which  my  friends 
exhibit  in  speaking  of  mine.  Who  does  not  see  a  friend's 
weaknesses,  and  is  so  blind  that  he  cannot  perceive  that  enor- 
mous beam  in  his  neighbor's  eye .''  Only  a  woman  or  two, 
from  time  to  time.  And  even  they  are  undeceived  some  day. 
A  man  of  the  world,  I  write  about  my  friends  as  mundane 
fellow-creatures.  Do  you  suppose  there  are  many  angels 
here  ?  I  say  again,  perhaps  a  woman  or  two.  But  as  for  you 
and  me,  my  good  sir,  are  there  any  signs  of  wings  sprouting 
from  our  shoulder-blades  ?  Be  quiet.  Don't  pursue  your 
snarling,  cynical  remarks,  but  go  on  with  your  story. 

As  you  go  through  life,  stumbling,  and  slipping,  and  stag- 
gering to  your  feet  again,  ruefully  aware  of  your  own  wretched 
weakness,  and  praying,  with  a  contrite  heart,  let  us  trust,  that 


ON-  HIS  WAY  THROUGir  THE  WORLD. 


147 


you  may  not  be  led  into  temptation,  have  you  not  often  looked 
at  other  fellow-sinners,  and  speculated  with  an  awful  interest 
on  their  career  ?  Some  there  are  on  whom,  quite  in  their  early 
lives,  dark  Ahrimanes  has  seemed  to  lay  his  dread  mark :  chil- 
dren, yet  corrupt,  and  wicked  of  tongue  ;  tender  of  age,  yet 
cruel ;  who  should  be  truth-telling  and  generous  yet  (they  were 
at  their  mothers'  bosoms  yesterday),  but  are  false  and  cold  and 
greedy  before  their  time.  Infants  almost,  they  practice  the 
art  and  selfishness  of  old  men.  Behind  their  candid  faces  are 
wiles  and  wickedness,  and  a  hideous  precocity  of  artifice.  I 
can  recall  such,  and  in  the  vista  of  far-off,  unforgotten  boyhood, 
can  see  marching  that  sad  little  procession  of  cnfans  perdiis. 
May  they  be  saved,  pray  hea\en  !  Then  there  is  the  doubtful 
class,  those  who  are  still  on  trial ;  those  who  fall  and  rise  again  \ 
those  who  are  often  worsted  in  life's  battle  ;  beaten  down, 
wounded,  imprisoned  :  but  escape  and  conquer  sometimes. 
And  then  there  is  the  happy  class  about  whom  there  seems  no 
doubt  at  all :  the  spotless  and  white-robed  ones,  to  whom  virtue 
is  easy  ;  in  whose  pure  bosoms  faith  nestles,  and  cold  doubt 
finds  no  entrance ;  who  are  children,  and  good  ;  young  men, 
and  good  ;  husbands  and  fathers,  and  yet  good.  Why  could 
the  captain  of  our  school  write  his  Greek  iambics  without  an 
effort,  and  without  an  error }  Others  of  us  blistered  the  page 
with  unavailing  tears  and  blots,  and  might  toil  ever  so  and 
come  in  lag  last  at  the  bottom  of  the  form.  Our  friend  Philip 
belongs  to  the  middle  class,  in  which  you  and  I  probably  are, 
my  dear  sir — not  yet,  I  hope,  irredeemably  consigned  to  that 
awful  third  class,  whereof  mention  has  been  made. 

But,  being  homo,  and  liable  to  err,  there  is  no  doubt  Mr. 
Philip  exercised  his  privilege,  and  there  was  even  no  little  fear 
at  one  time  that  he  should  overdraw  his  account.  He  went 
from  school  to  the  university,  and  there  distinguished  himself 
certainly,  but  in  a  way  in  which  very  few  parents  would  choose 
that  their  sons  should  excel.  That  he  should  hunt,  that  he 
should  give  parties,  that  he  should  pull  a  good  oar  in  one  of 
the  best  boats  on  the  river,  that  he  should  speak  at  the  Union 
— all  these  were  very  well.  But  why  should  he  speak  such 
awful  radicalism  and  republicanism — he  with  noble  blood  in  his 
veins,  and  the  son  of  a  parent  whose  interest  at  least  it  was  to 
keep  well  with  people  of  high  station  t 

"  Why,  Pendennis,"  said  Dr.  F'rmin  to  me  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  much  genuine  grief  exhibited  on  his  handsome  pale 
face — "  why  should  it  be  said  that  Philip  Firmin — both  of  whose 
grandfathers  fought  nobly  for  their  king — should  be  forgettins; 


I^S  THE  ADVEN'TUKES  OE  PHfLIP 

the  principles  of  his  family,  and — and,  I  haven't  words  to  tell 
you  how  deeply  lie  disappoints  me.  Why,  I  actually  heard  ol 
liim  at  that  horrible  Union  advocating  the  death  of  C'harles  the 
First !  I  was  wild  enough  myself  when  I  was  at  the  university, 
but  I  was  a  gentleman." 

"Boys,  sir,  are  boys,"  I  urged.  "They  will  advocate  any- 
thing for  an  argument ;  and  Philip  W'ould  have  taken  the  other 
side  quite  as  readily." 

"  Lord  Axminster  and  Lord  St.  Dennis  told  me  of  it  at  the 
club.  I  can  tell  you  it  has  made  a  most  painful  impression," 
cried  the  father.  "  That  my  son  should  be  a  radical  and  a  re- 
publican, is  a  cruel  thought  for  a  father  ;  and  I,  who  had  hoped 
for  Lord  Ringwood's  borough  for  him — who  had  hoped — wh.o 
had  hoped  very  much  better  things  for  him  and  from  him.  Lie 
is  not  a  comfort  to  n'le.  You  saw  how  he  treated  me  one  night  ? 
A  man  might  live  on  different  terms,  I  think,  with  his  only  son  !  " 
And  with  a  breaking  voice,  a  pallid  cheek,  and  a  real  grief  at 
his  heart,  the  unhappy  physician  moved  away. 

How  had  the  doctor  bred  his  son,  that  the  young  man  should 
be  thus  unruly  ?  Was  the  revolt  the  boy's  fault,  or  the  father's? 
Dr.  Firmin's  horror  seemed  to  be  because  his  noble  friends 
were  horrified  by  Phil's  radical  doctrine.  At  that  time  of  my 
life,  being  young  and  very  green,  I  had  a  little  mischievous 
pleasure  in  infuriating  Squaretoes,  and  causing  him  to  pronounce 
that  I  was  "  a  dangerous  man."  Now,  I  am  ready  to  say  that 
Nero  was  a  monarch  with  many  elegant  accomplishments,  and 
considerable  natural  amiability  of  disposition.  I  praise  and 
admire  success  wherever  I  meet  it.  I  make  allowance  for  faults 
and  shortcomings,  especially  in  my  superiors  ;  and  feel  that, 
did  we  know  all,  we  should  judge  them  very  differently.  Peo- 
ple don't  believe  me,  perhaps,  quite  so  much  as  formerly.  Put 
I  don't  offend  :  I  trust  I  don't  offend.  Have  I  said  anything 
painful  ?  Plague  on  my  blunders  !  I  recall  the  expression.  I 
regret  it.     I  contradict  it  fiat. 

As  1  am  ready  to  find  excuses  for  everybody,  let  poor  Philip 
come  in  for  the  benefit  of  this  mild  amnesty  ;  and  if  he  vexed 
his  father,  as  he  certainly  did,  let  us  trust — let  us  be  thankfully 
sure — he  was  not  so  black  as  the  old  gentleman  depicted  him. 
Nay,  if  I  have  painted  the  Old  Gentleman  himself  as  rathei 
black,  who  knows  but  that  this  was  an  error,  not  of  his  com- 
plexion, but  of  my  vision .''  Phil  was  unruly  because  he  was 
bold,  and  wild,  and  young.  His  father  was  hurt,  naturally 
hurt,  because  of  the  boy's  extravagances  and  follies.  They 
will  come  together  again,  as  father  and  son  should.     The^^, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  149 

little  differences  of  temper  will  be  smoothed  and  equalized 
anon.  The  boy  has  led  a  wild  life.  He  has  been  obliged  to 
leave  college.  He  has  given  his  father  hours  of  anxiety  and 
nights  of  painful  watching.  But  stay,  father,  what  of  you? 
Have  you  shown  to  the  boy  the  practice  of  confidence,  the  ex- 
ample of  love  and  honor  t  Did  you  accustom  him  to  virtue, 
and  teach  truth  to  the  child  at  your  knee  ?  "  Honor  your 
father  and  mother."  Amen.  May  his  days  be  long  who  fulfils 
the  command  :  but  implied,  though  unwritten  on  the  table,  is 
there  not  the  order,  "  Honor  your  son  and  daughter  ?  "  Pray 
heaven  that  we,  whose  days  are  already  not  few  in  the  land, 
may  keep  this  ordinance  too. 

What  had  made  Philip  wild,  extravagant,  and  insubordinate  ? 
Cured  of  that  illness  in  which  we  saw  him,  he  rose  up,  and 
from  school  went  his  way  to  the  university,  and  there  entered 
on  a  life  such  as  wild  young  men  will  lead.  From  that  day  of 
illness  his  manner  towards  his  father  changed,  and  regarding 
the  change  the  elder  Firmin  seemed  afraid  to  question  his  son. 
He  used  the  house  as  if  his  own,  came  and  absented  himself  at 
will,  ruled  the  servants,  and  was  spoiled  by  them  ;  spent  the 
income  wdiich  was  settled  on  his  mother  and  her  children,  and 
gave  of  it  liberally  to  poor  acquaintances.  To  the  remon- 
strances of  old  friends  he  replied  that  he  had  a  right  to  do  as  he 
chose  with  his  own  ;  that  other  men  who  were  poor  might  work, 
but  that  he  had  enough  to  live  on,  without  grinding  over  class- 
ics and  mathematics.  He  was  implicated  in  more  rows  than 
one ;  his  tutors  saw  him  not,  but  he  and  the  proctors  became  a 
great  deal  too  well  acquainted.  If  I  were  to  give  a  history  of 
Mr.  Philip  Firmin  at  the  university,  it  would  be  tlie  story  of  an 
Idle  Apprentice,  of  whom  his  pastors  and  masters  were  justified 
in  i^rophesying  evil.  He  was  seen  on  lawless  London  excur- 
sions, when  his  father  and  tutor  supposed  him  unwell  in  his 
rooms  in  college.  He  made  acquaintance  with  jolly  compan- 
ions, with  whom  his  father  grieved  that  he  should  be  intimate. 
He  cut  the  astonished  uncle  Twysden  in  London  Street,  and 
blandly  told  him  that  he  must  be  mistaken — he  one  Frenchman, 
he  no  speak  English.  He  stared  the  master  of  his  own  college 
•out  of  countenance,  dashed  back  to  college  with  a  Turpin-like 
celerity,  and  was  in  rooms  with  a  ready-proved  alibi  when  in- 
quiries were  made.  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  doubt  that  Phil 
screwed  up  his  tutor's  door  ;  Mr.  Okes  discovered  him  in  the 
act.  He  had  to  go  down,  the  young  prodigal.  I  wish  I  could 
say  he  was  repentant.  But  he  appeared  before  his  father  with 
the  utmost  nonchalance  ;  said  that  he  was  doing  no  good  at  the 


t50 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PIIlUP 


university,  and  should  be  much  better  away,  and  then  went 
abroad  on  a  dashing  tour  to  France  and  Italy,  w^hither  it  is  by 
no  means  our  business  to  follow  him.  Something  had  poisoned 
the  generous  blood.  The  once  kindly  honest  lad  was  wild  and 
reckless.  He  had  money  in  sufficiency,  his  own  horses  and 
equipage,  and  free  quarters  in  his  father's  house.  But  father 
and  son  scarce  met,  and  seldom  took  a  meal  together.  "  I 
know  his  haunts,  but  I  don't  know  his  friends,  Pendennis,"  the 
elder  man  said.  "  I  don't  think  they  are  vicious,  so  much  as 
low.  I  do  not  charge  him  with  vice,  mind  you  ;  but  with  idle- 
ness, and  a  fatal  love  of  low  company,  and  a  frantic,  suicidal 
determination  to  fling  his  chances  in  life  away.  Ah,  think 
where  he  might  be,  and  where  he  is  !  " 

Where  he  was  ?  Do  not  be  alarmed.  Philip  was  only 
idling,  Philip  might  have  been  much  more  industriously,  more 
profitably,  and  a  great  deal  more  wickedly  employed.  What  is 
now  called  Bohemia  had  no  name  in  Philip's  young  days,  though 
many  of  us  knew  the  country  very  well.  A  pleasant  land,  not 
fenced  with  drab  stucco,  like  Tyburnia  or  Belgravia ;  not 
guarded  by  a  huge  standing  army  of  footmen  ;  not  echoing  with 
noble  chariots  ;  not  replete  with  polite  chintz  drawing-rooms  and 
neat  tea-tables ;  a  land  over  which  hangs  an  endless  fog,  occa- 
sioned by  much  tobacco  ;  a  landof  chambers,  billiard-rooms,  suii- 
per-rooms,  oysters  ;  aland  of  song  ;  a  land  where  soda-water  flows 
freely  in  the  morning  :  a  land  of  tin-dish  covers  from  taverns, 
and  frothing  porter ;  a  land  of  lotos-eating  (with  lots  of  cay- 
enne pepper),  of  pulls  on  the  river,  of  delicious  reading  of 
novels,  magazines,  and  saunterings  in  many  studios  ;  a  land 
where  men  call  each  other  by  their  Christian  names ;  where 
most  are  poor,  where  almost  all  are  young,  and  where,  if  a  few 
oldsters  do  enter,  it  is  because  they  have  preserved  more  ten- 
derly and  carefully  than  other  folks  their  youthful  spirits,  and 
the  delightful  capacity  to  be  idle.  I  have  lost  my  way  to  Bo- 
hemia now,  but  it  is  certain  that  Prague  is  the  most  picturesque 
city  in  the  world. 

Having  long  lived  there,  and  indeed  only  lately  quitted  the 
Bohemian  land  at  the  time  whereof  I  am  writing,  1  could  no 
quite  participate  in  Dr.  Firmin's  indignation  at  his  son  persist 
ing  in  his  bad  courses  and  wild  associates.  When  Firmin  had 
been  wild  himself,  he  had  fought,  intrigued,  and  gambled  in 
good  company.  Phil  chose  his  friends  amongst  a  banditti 
never  heard  of  in  fashionable  quarters.  Perhaps  he  liked  to 
play  the  prince  in  the  midst  of  these  associates,  and  was  not 
averse  to  the  flattery  which  a  full  purse  brought  him  among 


ox  J/IS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  15 

men  most  of  whose  pockets  had  a  meagre  linhig.  He  had  not 
emigrated  to  Bohemia,  and  settled  there  altogether.  At  school 
and  in  his  brief  university  career  he  had  made  some  friends 
who  lived  in  the  world,  and  with  whom  he  was  still  familiar. 
"These  come  and  knock  at  my  front  door,. my  father's  door," 
he  would  say,  with  one  of  his  old  laughs  ;  "  the  Bandits,  who 
have  the  signal,  enter  only  by  the  dissecting-room.  I  know 
which  are  the  most  honest,  and  that  it  is  not  always  the  poor 
Freebooters  who  best  deserve  to  be  hanged." 

Like  man}%  a  young  gentleman  who  has  no  intention  of  pur- 
suing legal  studies  seriously,  Philip  entered  at  an  inn  of  court, 
and  kept  his  terms  duly,  though  he  vowed  that  his  conscience 
Would  not  allow  him  to  practise  (I  am  not  defending  the 
opinions  of  this  squeamish  moralist — only  stating  them).  His 
acquaintance  here  lay  amongst  the  Temple  Bohemians.  He 
had  part  of  a  set  of  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings,  to  be 
sure,  and  you  might  read  on  a  door,  "  Mr.  Cassidy,  Mr.  P. 
Firmin,  Mr.  Vanjohn  ; "  but  were  these  gentlemen  likely  to 
advance  Philip  in  life  ?  Cassidy  was  a  newspaper  reporter,  and 
young  Vanjohn  a  betting  man  who  was  always  attending  races. 
Dr.  Firmin  had  a  horror  of  newspaper-men,  and  considered 
they  belonged  to  the  dangerous  classes,  and  treated  them  with 
a  distant  affability. 

"  Look  at  the  governor,  Pen,"  Philip  would  say  to  the  pres- 
ent chronicler.  "  He  always  watches  you  with  a  secret  sus- 
picion, and  has  never  got  over  his  wonder  at  your  being  a  gen- 
tleman. I  like  him  when  he  does  the  Lord  Chatham  business, 
and  condescends  towards  3'ou,  and  give  you  his  hand  to  kiss. 
He  considers  he  is  your  better,  don't  you  see  ?  Oh,  he  is  a 
paragon  of  a  pore  noble,  the  governor  is  !  and  I  ought  to  be  a 
young  Sir  Charles  Grandison."  And  the  young  scapegrace 
would  imitate  his  father's  smile,  and  the  doctor's  manner  of 
laying  his  hand  to  his  breast  and  putting  out  his  neat  right  leg, 
all  of  which  movements  or  postures  were,  I  own,  rather  pom- 
pous and  affected. 

Whatever  the  paternal  faults  were,  you  will  say  that  Philip 
was  not  the  man  to  criticize  them  ;  nor  in  this  matter  shall  I 
attempt  to  defend  him.  My  wife  has  a  little  pensioner  whom 
she  found  wandering  in  the  street,  and  singing  a  little  artless 
song.  The  child  could  not  speak  yet — only  warble  its  little 
song ;  and  had  thus  strayed  away  from  home,  and  never  once 
knew  of  her  danger.  We  kept  her  for  a  while,  until  the  police 
found  her  parents.  Our  servants  bathed  her,  and  dressed  her, 
and  sent  her  home  in  such  neat  clothes  as  the  poor  little  wretch 


152 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PlflLIP 


had  never  seen  until  fortune  sent  her  in  the  way  of  those  good- 
natured  folks.  She  pays  them  frequent  visits.  When  she  goes 
away  from  us,  she  is  always  neat  and  clean  ;  when  she  comes 
to  us,  she  is  in  rags  and  dirty  :  a  wicked  little  slattern  !  And 
pray,  whose  duty  is  it  to  keep  her  clean  t  and  has  not  the 
parent  in  this  case  forgotten  to  honor  her  daughter  ?  Suppose 
there  is  some  reason  which  prevents  Philip  from  loving  his 
father — that  the  doctor  has  neglected  to  cleanse  the  boy's  heart, 
and  by  carelessness  and  indifference  has  sent  him  erring  into 
the  world.  If  so,  woe  be  to  that  doctor  !  If  I  take  my  little 
son  to  the  tavern  to  dinner,  shall  I  not  assuredly  pay }  If  I 
suffer  him  in  tender  youth  to  go  astray,  and  harm  comes  to 
him,  whose  is  the  fault } 

Perhaps  the  very  outrages  and  irregularities  of  which  Phil's 
father  complained,  were  in  some  degree  occasioned  by  the 
elder's  own  faults.  He  was  so  laboriously  obsequious  to  great 
men,  that  the  son  in  a  rage  defied  and  avoided  them.  He  was 
so  grave,  so  polite,  so  complimentary,  so  artificial,  that  Phil,  in 
revolt  at  such  hypocrisy,  chose  to  be  frank,  cynical,  and  familiar. 
The  grave  old  bigwigs  whom  the  doctor  loved  to  assemble, 
bland  and  solemn  men  of  the  ancient  school,  who  dined  solemnly 
with  each  other  at  their  solemn  old  houses — such  men  as  old 
Lord  Botley,  Baron  Bumpsher,  Cricklade,  (who  published 
"Travels  in  Asia  Minor,"  4to,  1804,)  the  Bishop  of  St.  Bees, 
and  the  like — wagged  their  old  heads  sadly  when  they  col- 
logued in  clubs,  and  talked  of  poor  Firmin's  scapegrace  of  a  son. 
He  would  come  to  no  good ;  he  was  giving  his  good  father 
much  pain  ;  he  had  been  in  all  sorts  of  rows  and  disturbances 
at  the  university,  and  the  Master  of  Boniface  reported  most  un- 
favorably of  him.  And  at  the  solemn  dinners  in  Old  Parr 
Street — the  admirable,  costly,  silent  dinners — he  treated  these 
old  gentlemen  with  a  familiarity  which  caused  the  old  heads  to 
shake  with  surprise  and  choking  indignation.  Lord  Botley  and 
Baron  Bumpsher  had  proposed  and  seconded  Firmin's  boy  at 
the  Megatherium  club.  The  pallid  old  boys  toddled  away  in 
alarm  when  he  made  his  appearance  there.  He  brought  a  smell 
of  tobacco-smoke  with  him.  He  was  capable  of  smoking  in  the 
drawing-room  itself.  They  trembled  before  Philip,  who,  for  his 
part,  used  to  relish  their  senile  anger ;  and  loved,  as  he  called 
it,  to  tie  all  their  pigtails  together. 

In  noplace  was  Philip  seen  or  heard  to  so  little  advantage 
as  in  his  father's  house.  "  I  feel  like  a  humbug  myself  amongst 
those  old  humbugs,"  he  would  say  to  me.  "Their  old  jokes, 
and  their  old  compliments,  and  their  virtuous  old  conversation 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  1^3 

sicken  me.  Are  all  old  men  humbugs,  I  wonder?  "  It  is  not 
pleasant  to  hear  misanthropy  from  young  lips,  and  to  find  eyes 
that  are  scarce  twenty  years  old  already  looking  out  with 
distrust  on  the  world. 

In  other  houses  than  his  own  I  am  bound  to  say  Philip  was 
much  more  amiable,  and  he  carried  with  him  a  splendor  of 
gayety  and  cheerfulness  which  brought  sunshine  and  welcome 
into  many  a  room  which  he  frequented.  I  have  said  that  many 
of  his  companions  were  artists -and  journalists,  and  their  clubs 
and  haunts  were  his  own.  Ridley  the  Academician  had  Mrs. 
Brandon's  rooms  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  Philip  was  often 
in  J.  J.'s  studio,  or  in  the  widow's  little  room  below.  He  had  a 
very  great  tenderness  and  affection  for  her ;  her  presence  seemed 
to  purify  him  ;  and  in  her  company  the  boisterous,  reckless 
young  man  was  invariably  gentle  and  respectful.  Her  eyes 
used  to  fill  with  tears  when  she  spoke  about  him  ;  and  when  he 
was  present,  followed  and  watched  him  with  sweet  motherly 
devotion.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  him  at  her  homely  little  fire- 
side, and  hear  his  jokes  and  prattle,  with  a  fatuous  old  father, 
who  was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  lodgers.  Philip  would  play 
cribbage  for  hours  with  this  old  man,  frisk  about  him  with  a 
hundred  harmless  jokes,  and  walk  out  by  his  invalid  chair,  when 
the  old  captain  went  to  sun  himself  in  the  New  Road.  He  was 
an  idle  fellow,  Philip,  that's  the  truth.  He  had  an  agreeable 
perseverance  in  doing  nothing,  and  would  pass  half  a  day  in 
perfect  contentment  over  his  pipe,  watching  Ridley  at  his  easel. 
J.  J.  painted  that  charming  head  of  Philip  which  hangs  in  Mrs. 
Brandon's  little  room:— with  the  fair  hair,  the  tawny  beard  and 
whiskers,  and  the  bold  blue  eyes. 

Phil  had  a  certain  after-supper  song  of  "  Garryowen  na 
Gloria,"  which  it  did  you  good  to  hear,  and  which,  when  sung 
at  his  full  pitch,  you  might  hear  for  a  mile  round.  One  night  I 
had  been  to  dine  in  Russell  Square,  and  was  brought  home  in 
his  carriage  by  Dr.  Firmin,  who  was  of  the  party.  As  we  came 
through  Soho,  the  windows  of  a  certain  club-room  called  the 
"  Haunt  "  were  open,  and  we  could  hear  Philip's  song  booming 
through  the  night,  and  especially  a  certain  wild-Irish  war-whoop 
with  which  it  concluded,  amidst  universal  applause  and  enthu- 
siastic battering  of  glasses. 

The  poor  father  sank  back  in  the  carriage  as  though  a  blow 
had  struck  him,  "  Do  you  hear  his  voice  ?  "  he  groaned  out. 
"  Those  are  his  haunts.  My  son,  who  might  go  anywhere, 
prefers  to  be  captain  in  a  pothouse,  and  sing  songs  in  a  tap 
room ! " 


»S4 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  P Til  UP 


I  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  case.  I  knew  there  was  nd 
harm  in  the  place ;  that  clever  men  of  considerable  note 
frequented  it.  But  the  wounded  father  was  not  to  be  consoled 
by  such  commonplaces  ;  and  a  deep  and  natural  grief  oppressed 
him  in  consequence  of  the  faults  of  his  son. 

What  ensued  by  no  means  surprised  me.  Among  Dr.  Fir- 
min's  patients  was  a  maiden  lady  of  suitable  age  and  large 
fortune,  who  looked  upon  the  accomplished  doctor  with  favor- 
able eyes.  That  he  should  take  a  companion  to  cheer  him  in  his 
solitude  was  natural  enough,  and  all  his  friends  concurred  in 
thinking  that  he  should  marry.  Every  one  had  cognizance  of 
the  quiet  little  courtship,  except  the  doctor's  son,  between  whom 
and  his  father  there  were  only  too  many  secrets. 

Some  man  in  a  club  asked  Philip  whether  he  should  condole 
with  him  or  congratulate  liim  on  his  father's  approaching 
marriage  ?  His  what  .''  The  younger  Firmin  exhibited  the 
greatest  surprise  and  agitation  on  hearing  of  this  match.  He 
ran  home  :  he  awaited  his  father's  return.  When  Dr.  Firmin 
came  home  and  betook  himself  to  his  study,  Philip  confronted 
him  there.  "  This  must  be  a  lie,  sir,  which  I  have  heard  to-day," 
the  young  man  said,  fiercely. 

"  A  lie  !  what  lie,  Philip  ?  "  asked  the  father.  They  were 
both  very  resolute  and  courageous  men. 

"  That  you  are  going  to  marry  Miss  Benson." 

"  Do  you  make  my  house  so  happy,  that  I  don't  need  any 
other  companion  ?"  asked  the  father. 

"That's  not  the  question,"  said  Philip,  hotly.  "You  can't 
and  mustn't  marry  that  lady,  sir." 

"  And  why  -not,  sir  ?  " 

"  Because  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  Heaven  you  are  married 
already,  sir.  And  I  swear  I  will  tell  Miss  Benson  the  story  to- 
morrow, if  you  persist  in  your  plan." 

"  So  you  know  that  story  ?  "  groaned  the  father. 

"  Yes.     God  forgive  you,"  said  the  son. 

"  It  was  a  fault  of  my  youth  that  has  been  bitterly  re- 
pented." 

"  A  fault ! — a  crime  !  "  said  Philip. 

"  Enough,  sir  !  Whatever  my  fault,  it  is  not  for  you  to  charge 
me  with  it." 

"  If  you  won't  guard  your  own  honor,  I  must.  I  shall  go  to 
Miss  Benson  now." 

"  If  you  go  out  of  this  house  you  don't  pretend  to  return 
to  it." 

"  Be  it  so.     Let  us  settle  our  accounts,  and  part,  sir." 


OiV  HIS  \VA  V  r II ROUGH  the  won  id. 


t55 


"thilip,  Philip!  you  break  my  heart,''  cried  the  fatlier. 
"  You  don't  suppose  mine  is  very  h'ght,  sir,"  said  the  son. 
PhiUp  never  had  Miss  Benson  for  a  mother-in-law.  But:  father 
and  son  loved  each  other  no  better  after  their  dispute. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
Brandon's. 

Thornhaugh  Street  is  but  a  poor  place  now,  and  the 
houses  look  as  if  they  had  seen  better  days  :  but  that  house' 
with  the  cut  centre  drawing-room  window,  which  has  the  name 
of  Brandon  on  the  door,  is  as  neat  as  any  house  in  the  quarter, 
and  the  brass  plate  always  shines  like  burnished  gold.  About 
Easter  time  many  fine  carriages  stop  at  that  door,  and  splendid 
people  walk  in,  introduced  by  a  tidy  little  maid,  or  else  by  an 
athletic  Italian,  with  a  glossy  black  beard  and  gold  earrings, 
who  conducts  them  to  the  drawing-room  floor,  where  Mr.Ridley, 
the  painter,  lives,  and  where  his  pictures  are  privately  exhibited 
before  they  go  to  the  Royal  Academy. 

As  the  carriages  drive  up,  you  will  often  see  a  red-faced  man, 
in  an  olive-green  wig,  smiling  blandly  over  the  blinds  of  the 
parlor,  on  the  ground-floor.  That  is  Captain  Gann,  the  father 
of  the  lady  who  keeps  the  house.  I  don't  know  how  he  came 
by  the  rank  of  captain,  but  he  has  borne  it  so  long  and  gal- 
lantly that  there  is  no  use  in  any  longer  questioning  the  title. 
He  does  not  claim  it,  neither  does  he  deny  it.  But  the  wags 
who  call  upon  Mrs.  Brandon  can  always,  as  the  phrase  is, 
"  draw  "  her  father,  by  speaking  of  Prussia,  France,  Waterloo, 
or  battles  in  general,  until  the  Little  Sister  says,  "  Now,  never 
mind  about  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  papa  "  (she  says  Pa — her 
//'s  are  irregular — I  can't  help  it) — "  Never  mind  about  Water- 
loo, papa;  you've  told  them  all  about  it.  And  don't  go  on, 
Mr.  Beans,  don't,  please,  go  on  in  that  way." 

Young  Beans  has  already  drawn  "  Captain  Gann  (assisted 
by  Shaw,  the  Life-Guardsman)  killing  twenty-four  French  cuiras- 
siers at  Waterloo."  "  Captain  Gann  defending  Hougoumont." 
"  Captain  Gann,  called  upon  by  Napoleon  Bonaparte  to  lay 
down  his  arms,  saying,  '  A  captain  of  militia  dies,  but  never 
surrenders.'  "  "  The  Duke  of  Wellington  pointing  to  the 
advancing  Old  Guard,  and  saying,  '  Up,  Gann,  and  at  them.'  '* 


1 2  6  THE  A  D  VENTURES  OF  PHIL  TP 

And  these  sketches  are  so  droll,  that  even  the  Little  Sister, 
Gann's  own  daughter,  can't  help  laughing  at  them.  To  be  sure, 
she  loves  fun,  the  Little  Sister  ;  laughs  over  droll  books  ;  laughs 
to  herself,  in  her  little  quiet  corner  at  work ;  laughs  over  pic- 
tures ;  and,  at  the  right  place,  laughs  and  sympathizes  too. 
Ridley  says,  he  knows  few  better  <:rilics  of  pictures  than  Mrs. 
]]randon.  She  has  a  sweet  temper,  a  merry  sense  of  humor, 
that  makes  the  cheeks  dimple  and  the  eyes  shine  ;  and  a  kind 
heart,  that  has  been  sorely  tried  and  wounded,  but  is  still  soft 
and  gentle.  Fortunate  are  they  whose  hearts,  so  tried  by  suf- 
fering, yet  recover  their  health.  Some  have  illnesses  from  which 
there  is  no  recovery,  and  drag  through  life  afterwards,  maimed 
and  invalided. 

But  this  Little  Sister,  having  been  subjected  in  youth  to  a 
dreadful  trial  and  sorrow,  was  saved  out  of  them  by  a  kind  Provi- 
dence, and  is  now  so  thoroughly  restored  as  to  own  that  she  is 
happy,  and  to  thank  God  that  she  can  be  grateful  and  useful. 
When  poor  Montfitchet  died,  she  nursed  him  through  his  illness 
as  tenderly  as  his  good  wife  herself.  In  the  days  of  her  own 
chief  grief  and  misfortune,  her  father,  who  was  under  the  dom- 
ination of  his  wife,  a  cruel  and  blundering  woman,  thrust  out 
poor  little  Caroline  from  his  door,  when  she  returned  to  it  the 
broken-hearted  victim  of  a  scoundrel's  seduction  ;  and  when 
the  old  captain  was  himself  in  want  and  houseless,  she  had 
found  him,  sheltered  and  fed  him.  And  it  was  from  that  day 
her  wounds  had  begun  to  heal,  and,  from  gratitude  for  this 
immense  piece  of  good  fortune  vouchsafed  to  her,  that  her  hap- 
piness and  cheerfulness  returned.  Returned  ?  There  was  an 
old  servant  of  the  family,  who  could  not  stay  in  the  house 
because  she  was  so  abominably  disrespectful  to  the  captain,  and 
this  woman  said  she  had  never  known  Miss  Caroline  so  cheer- 
ful, nor  so  happy,  nor  so  good-looking,  as  she  was  now. 

So  Captain  Gann  came  to  live  with  his  daughter,  and  patron- 
ized her  with  much  dignity.  He  had  a  very  few  yearly  pounds, 
which  served  to  pay  his  club  expenses,  and  a  portion  of  his 
clothes.  His  club,  I  need  not  say,  was  at  the  "  Admiral  Byng," 
Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  here  the  captain  met  frequently  a 
pleasant  little  society,  and  bragged  unceasingly  about  his  forme<r 
prosperity. 

I  have  heard  that  the  country-house  in  Kent,  of  which  he 
boasted,  was  a  shabby  little  lodging-house  at  Margate,  of  which 
the  furniture  was  sold  in  execution ;  but  if  it  had  been  a  palace 
the  captain  would  not  have  been  out  of  place  there,  one  or  two 
people   still   rather  fondly  thought.     His  daughter,  amongst 


THE    OLD    FOGIES. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


157 


Others,  had  tried  to  fancy  all  sorts  of  good  of  lier  father,  and 
especially  that  he  was  a  man  of  remarkably  good  manners.  Lut 
she  had  seen  one  or  two  gentlemen  since  she  knew  the  poor  old 
father — gentlemen  with  rough  coats  and  good  hearts,  like  Dr. 
Goodenough  ;  gentlemen  with  superfine  coats  and  superfine 
double-milled  manners,  like  Dr.  P^irmin,  and  hearts — well,  never 
mind  about  that  point ,  gentlemen  of  no  /^'s,  like  the  good,  dear, 
faithful  benefactor  who  had  rescued  her  at  the  brink  of  despair ; 
men  of  genius,  like  Ridley  ] — great  hearty,  generous,  honest 
gentlemen,  like  Philip  ; — and  this  illusion  about  Pa,  I  suppose, 
had  vanished  along  with  some  other  fancies  of  her  poor  little 
maiden  youth.  The  truth  is,  she  had  an  understanding  with 
the  "  Admiral  Byng :  "  the  landlady  was  instructed  as  to  the 
supplies  to  be  furnished  to  the  captain  ;  and  as  for  his  stories, 
poor  Caroline  knew  them  a  great  deal  too  well  to  believe  in 
them  any  more. 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  accuse  the  captain  of  habitual 
inebriety.  He  was  a  generous  officer,  and  his  delight  was, 
when  in  cash,  to  order  "glasses  round  "  for  the  company  at  the 
club,  to  whom  he  narrated  the  history  of  his  brilliant  early  days, 
when  he  lived  in  some  of  the  tiptop  society  of  this  city,  sir — a 
society  in  which,  we  need  not  say,  the  custom  always  is  for 
gentlemen  to  treat  other  gentlemen  to  rum-and-water.  Never 
mind — I  wish  we  were  all  as  happy  as  the  captain.  I  see  his 
jolly  face  now  before  me  as  it  blooms  through  the  window  in 
Thornhaugh  Street,  and  the  wave  of  the  somewhat  dingy  hand 
which  sweeps  me  a  gracious  recognition. 

The  clergyman  of  the  neighboring  chapel  was  a  very  good 
friend  of  the  Little  Sister,  and  has  taken  tea  in  her  parlor  ;  to 
which  circumstance  the  captain  frequently  alluded,  pointing  out 
the  very  chair  on  which  the  divine  sat.  Mr.  Gann  attended  his 
ministrations  regularly  every  Sunday,  and  brought  a  rich,  though 
somewhat  worn,  bass  voice  to  bear  upon  the  anthems  and  hymns 
at  the  chapel.  His  style  was  more  florid  than  is  general  now 
among  church  singers,  and,  indeed,  had  been  acquired  in  a 
former  age  and  in  the  performance  of  rich  Bacchanalian  chants, 
such  as  delighted  the  contemporaries  of  our  Incledons  and 
Brahams.  With  a  very  little  entreaty,  the  captain  could  be 
induced  to  sing  at  the  club ;  and  I  must  own  that  Phil  Firmin 
would  draw  the  captain  out,  and  extract  from  him  a  song  of 
ancient  days  ;  but  this  must  be  in  the  absence  of  his  daughter, 
whose  little  face  wore  an  air  of  such  extreme  terror  and  disturb- 
ance when  her  father  sang,  that  he  presently  ceased  from  exer- 
cising his  musical  talents  in  her  hearing.     He  hung  up  his  lyre, 


leS  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

whereof  it  must  be  owned  that  tune  had  brokc.i  many  of  the 
once  resounding  chords. 

With  a  sketch  or  two  contributed  by  her  lodgers — with  a 
Tjw  gimcracks  from  the  neighboring  Wardour  Street  presented 
by  others  of  her  friends — with  the  chairs,  tables,  and  bureaux 
as  bright  as  bees'-wax  and  rubbing  could  make  them — the 
Little  Sister's  room  was  a  cheery  little  place,  and  received  not 
a  little  company.  She  allowed  Pa's  pipe.  "  It's  company  to 
him,"  she  said.  "  A  man  can't  be  doing  much  harm  when  he 
is  smoking  his  pipe."  And  she  allowed  Phil's  cigar.  Any- 
thing was  allowed  to  Phil,  the  other  lodgers  declared,  who  pro- 
fessed to  be  quite  jealous  of  Philip  Firmin.  She  had  a  very 
few  books.  "  When  I  was  a  girl  I  used  to  be  always  reading 
novels,"  she  said  ;  "  but,  la,  they're  mostly  nonsense.  There's 
Mr.  Pendennis,  who  comes  to  see  Mr.  Ridley.  I  wonder  how 
a  married  man  can  go  on  writing  about  love,  and  all  that  stuff!  " 
And,  indeed,  it  is  rather  absurd  for  elderly  fingers  to  be  still 
twanging  Dan  Cupid's  toy  bow  and  arrows.  Yesterday  is 
gone — yes,  but  very  well  remembered  ;  and  we  think  of  it  the 
more  now  we  know  that  To-morrow  is  not  going  to  bring  us 
much. 

Into  Mrs.  Brandon's  parlor  Mr.  Ridley's  old  father  would 
sometimes  enter  of  evenings,  and  share  the  bit  of  bread  and 
cheese,  or  the  modest  supper  of  Mrs.  Brandon  and  the  captain. 
The  homely  little  meal  has  almost  vanquished  out  of  our  life 
now,  but  in  former  days  it  assembled  many  a  family  round  its 
kindly  board.  A  little  modest  supper-tray — a  little  quiet  prat- 
tle— a  little  kindly  glass  that  cheered  and  never  inebriated.  I 
can  see  friendly  faces  smiling  round  such  a  meal,  at  a  period 
not  far  gone,  but  how  distant !  I  wonder  whether  there  are 
any  old  folks  now,  in  old  quarters  of  old  country  towns,  who 
come  to  each  other's  houses  in  sedan-chairs,  at  six  o'clock,  and 
play  at  quadrille  until  supper-tray  time  ?  Of  evenings  Ridley 
and  the  captain,  I  say,  would  have  a  solemn  game  at  cribbage, 
and  the  Little  Sister  would  make  make  up  a  jug  of  something 
good  for  the  two  oldsters.  She  liked  Mr.  Ridley  to  come,  for 
he  always  treated  her  father  so  respectful,  and  was  quite  the 
gentleman.  And  as  for  Mrs.  Ridley,  Mr.  R.'s  "  good  lady," — 
was  she  not  also  grateful  to  the  Little  Sister  for  having  nursed 
her  son  during  his  malady  ?  Through  their  connection  they 
were  enabled  to  procure  ]\Irs.  Brandon  many  valuable  friends  ; 
and  always  were  pleased  to  pass  an  evening  with  the  captain, 
and  were  as  civil  to  him  as  they  could  have  been  had  he  been 
at  the  very  height  of  his  prosperity  and  splendor.     My  private 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


159 


opinion  of  the  old  captain,  you  see,  is  that  he  was  a  worthless 
old  captain,  but  most  fortunate  in  his  early  ruin,  after  which  he 
had  lived  very  much  admired  and  comfortable,  sufficient  whiskey 
being  almost  always  provided  for  him. 

Old  ]\Ir.  Ridley's  respect  for  her  father  afforded  a  most 
precious  consolation  to  the  Little  Sister.  Ridley  liked  to  have 
the  paper  read  to  him.  He  was  never  quite  easy  with  print, 
and  to  his  last  days,  many  words  to  be  met  with  in  newspapers 
and  elsewhere  used  to  occasion  the  good  butler  much  intellec- 
tual trouble.  The  Little  Sister  made  his  lodger's  bills  out  for 
him  (Mr.  R.,  as  well  as  the  captain's  daughter,  strove  to  in- 
crease a  small  income  by  the  letting  of  furnished  apartments), 
or  the  captain  himself  would  take  these  documents  in  charge  ; 
he  wrote  a  noble  mercantile  hand,  rendered  now  somewhat 
shaky  by  time,  but  still  very  fine  in  flourishes  and  capitals,  and 
very  much  at  worthy  Mr.  Ridley's  service.  Time  was,  when 
his  son  was  a  boy,  that  J.  J.  himself  had  prepared  these  ac- 
counts, which  neither  his  father  nor  his  mother  were  very  com- 
petent to  arrange.  "  \\' e  were  not,  in  our  young  time,  Mr. 
Gann,"  Ridley  remarked  to  his  friend,  "  brought  up  to  much 
scholarship  ;  and  very  little  book-learning  was  given  to  persons 
in  my  rank  of  life.  It  was  necessary  and  proper  for  you  gen- 
tlemen, of  course,  sir."  "Of  course,  Mr.  Ridley,"  winks  the 
other  veteran  over  his  pipe.  "  But  I  can't  go  and  ask  my  son 
John  James  to  keep  his  old  father's  books  now  as  he  used  to 
do — which  to  do  so  is,  on  the  part  of  you  and  Mrs.  Brandon, 
the  part  of  true  friendship,  and  I  value  it,  sir,  and  so  do  my 
son  John  James  reckonize  and  value  it,  sir."  Mr.  Ridley  had 
served  gentlemen  of  the  botwe  ecolc.  No  nobleman  could  be 
more  courtly  and  grave  than  he  was.  In  Mr.  Gann's  manner 
there  was  more  humorous  playfulness,  which  in  no  way,  how- 
ever, diminished  the  captain's  high  breeding.  As  he  continued 
to  be  intimate  with  Mr,  Ridley,  he  became  loftier  and  more 
majestic.  I  think  each  of  these  elders  acted  on  the  other,  and 
for  good  ;  and  I  hope  Ridley's  opinion  w'as  correct,  that  Mr. 
Gann  was  ever  the  gentleman.  To  see  these  two  good  fogies 
together  was  a  spectacle  for  edification.  Their  tumblers  kissed 
each  other  on  the  table.  Their  elderly  friendship  brought 
comfort  to  themselves  and  their  families.  A  little  matter  of 
money  once  created  a  coolness  between  the  two  old  gentlemen. 
But  the  Little  Sister  paid  the  outstanding  account  between  her 
father  and  Mr.  Ridley  :  there  never  was  any  further  talk  of 
pecuniary  loans  between  them  ;  and  when  they  went  to  the 
"  Admiral  Byng,"  each  paid  for  himself. 


i6o  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Phil  often  heard  of  that  nightly  meeting  at  the  "  Admiral's 
Plead,"  and  longed  to  be  of  the  company.  But  even  when  he 
saw  the  old  gentlemen  in  the  Little  Sister's  parlor,  they  felt 
dimly  that  he  was  making  fun  of  them.  The  captain  would 
not  have  been  able  to  brag  so  at  ease  had  Phil  been  continually 
watching  him.  "  I  have  'ad  the  honor  of  waiting  on  your 
worthy  father  at  my  Lord  Todmorden's  table.  Our  little  club 
ain't  no  jolace  for  you,  Mr,  Philip,  nor  for  my  son,  though  he's 
a  good  son,  and  proud  me  and  his  mother  is  of  him,  which  he 
have  never  gave  us  a  moment's  pain,  except  when  he  was  ill, 
since  he  have  came  to  man's  estate,  most  thankful  am  I,  and 
with  my  hand  on  my  heart,  for  to  be  able  to  say  so.  Put  what 
is  good  for  me  and  Mr.  Gann,  won't  suit  you  young  gentlemen. 
You  ain't  a  tradesman,  sir,  else  I'm  mistaken  in  the  family, 
which  I  thought  the  Ringwoods  one  of  the  best  in  England, 
and  the  P'irmins,  a  good  one  likewise."  Mr.  Ridley  loved  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice.  At  the  festive  meetings  of  the  club, 
seldom  a  night  passed  in  which  he  did  not  compliment  his 
brother  Pyngs  and  air  his  own  oratory.  Under  this  reproof 
Phil  blused,  and  hung  his  conscious  head  with  shame.  "  Mr. 
Ridley,"  says  he,  "  you  shall  find  I  won't  come  where  I  am 
not  welcome ;  and  if  I  come  to  annoy  you  at  the  '  Admiral 
Byng,'  may  I  be  taken  out  on  the  quarterdeck  and  shot."  On 
which  Mr.  Ridley  pronounced  Philip  to  be  a  "  most  sing'Iar, 
astrornary,  and  ascentric  young  man.  A  good  heart,  sir.  Most 
generous  to  relieve  distress.  Fine  talent,  sir ;  but  I  fear — I 
fear  they  won't  come  to  much  good,  Mr.  Gann — saving  your 
presence,  Mrs.  Brandon,  m'm,  which,  of  course,  you  always 
stand  up  for  him." 

When  Philip  Pirmin  had  had  his  pipe  and  his  talk  with  the 
Little  Sister  in  her  parlor,  he  would  ascend  and  smoke  his 
second,  third,  tenth  pipe  in  J.  J.  Ridley's  studio.  He  would 
pass  hours  before  J.  J.'s  easel,  pouring  out  talk  about  politics, 
about  religion,  about  poetry,  about  women,  about  the  dreadful 
slavishness  and  meanness  of  the  world  ;  unwearied  in  talk  and 
idleness,  as  placid  J.  J.  was  in  listening  and  labor.  The  painter 
had  been  too  busy  in  life  over  his  easel  to  read  many  books. 
His  ignorance  of  literature  smote  him  with  a  frequent  shame. 
He  admired  book-writers,  and  young  men  of  the  university  who 
quoted  their  Greek  and  their  Horace  glibly.  He  listened  with 
deference  to  their  talk  on  such  matters  ;  no  doubt  got  good 
hints  from  some  of  them  ;  was  always  secretly  pained  and 
surprised  when  the  university  gentlemen  were  beaten  in  argu- 
ment, or  loud  and  coarse  in  conversation,  as  sometimes  they 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  iGl 

would  be.  "J.  J.  is  a  very  clever  fellow  of  course."  Mr.  Jar- 
man  would  say  of  him,  "  and  the  luckiest  man  in  Europe.  He 
loves  painting,  and  he  is  at  work  all  day.  He  loves  toadying 
fine  people,  and  he  goes  to  a  tea-party  every  night."  You  all 
knew  Jarman  of  Charlotte  Street,  the  miniature-painter  ?  He 
was  one  of  the  kings  of  the  "  Haunt."  His  tongue  spared  no 
one.  He  envied  all  success,  and  the  sight  of  prosperity  made 
him  furious  :  but  to  the  unsuccessful  he  was  kind ;  to  the  poor 
eager  with  help  and  prodigal  of  compassion  ;  and  that  old  talk 
about  nature's  noblemen  and  the  glory  of  labor  was  very  fiercely 
and  eloquently  waged  by  him.  His  friends  admired  him  ;  he 
was  the  soul  of  independence,  and  thought  most  men  sneaks 
who  wore  clean  linen  and  frequented  gentlemen's  society  :  but 
it  must  be  owned  his  landlords  had  a  bad  opinion  of  him,  and 
I  have  heard  of  one  or  two  of  his  pecuniary  transactions  which 
certainly  were  not  to  Mr.  Jarman's  credit.  Jarman  was  a  man 
of  remarkable  humor.  He  was  fond  of  the  widow,  and  would 
speak  of  her  goodness,  usefulness,  and  honesty  with  tears  in 
his  eyes.  She  was  poor  and  struggling  yet.  Had  she  been 
wealthy  and  prosperous,  Mr.  Jarman  would  not  have  been  so 
alive  to  her  merit. 

We  ascend  to  the  room  on  the  first  floor,  where  the  centre 
window  has  been  heightened,  so  as  to  afford  an  upper  light,  and 
under  that  stream  of  radiance  we  behold  the  head  of  an  old 
friend,  Mr.  J,  J.  Ridley,  the  R.  Academician.  Time  has  some- 
what thinned  his  own  copious  locks,  and  prematurely  streaked 
the  head  with  silver.  His  face  is  rather  wan  ;  the  eager,  sensi- 
tive hand  which  poises  brush  and  palette,  and  quivers  over  the 
picture,  is  very  thin  :  round  his  eyes  are  many  lines  of  ill  health 
and,  perhaps,  care,  but  the  eyes  are  as  bright  as  ever,  and, 
when  they  look  at  the  canvas  or  the  model  which  he  transfers 
to  it,  clear,  and  keen,  and  happ)-.  He  has  a  very  sweet  singing 
voice,  and  warbles  at  his  work,  or  whistles  at  it,  smiling.  He 
sets  his  hand  little  feats  of  skill  to  perform,  and  smiles  with  a 
boyish  pleasure  at  his  own  matchless  dexterity.  I  have  seen 
him,  with  an  old  pewter  mustard-pot  for  a  model,  fashion  a 
splendid  silver  flagon  in  one  of  his  pictures ;  paint  the  hair  of 
an  animal,  the  folds  and  flowers  of  a  bit  of  brocade,  and  so 
forth,  with  a  perfect  delight  in  the  work  he  was  performing  :  a 
delight  lasting  from  morning  to  sundown,  during  which  time  he 
was  too  busy  to  touch  the  biscuit  and  glass  of  water  which  was 
prepared  for  his  frugal  luncheon.  He  is  greedy  of  the  last 
minute  of  light,  and  never  can  be  got  from  his  darling  pictures 
without  a  regret.     To  be  a  painter,  and  to  have  your  hand  in 


1(32  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

perfect  command,  I  hold  to  be  one  of  life's  sutufna  bona.  The 
happy  mixture  of  hand  and  head  work  must  render  the  occu- 
pation supremely  pleasant.  In  the  day's  work  must  occur 
endless  delightful  difficulties  and  occasions  for  skill.  Over 
the  details  for  that  armor,  that  drapery,  or  what  not,  the  sparkle 
of  that  eye,  the  downy  blush  of  that  cheek,  the  jewel  on  that 
neck,  there  are  battles  to  be  fought  and  victories  to  be  won. 
Each  day  there  must  occur  critical  moments  of  supreme  strug- 
gle and  triumph,  when  struggle  and  victory  must  be  both 
invigorating  and  exquisitely  pleasing — as  a  burst  across  country 
is  to  a  fine  rider  perfectly  mounted,  who  knows  that  his  courage 
and  his  horse  will  never  fail  him.  There  is  the  excitement  oi 
the  game,  and  the  gallant  delight  in  winning  it.  Of  this  sort 
of  admirable  reward  for  their  labor,  no  men,  I  think,  have  a 
greater  share  than  painters  (perhaps  a  violin-player  perfectly 
and  triumphantly  performing  his  own  beautiful  composition 
may  be  equally  happy).  Here  is  occupation  :  here  is  excite- 
ment :  here  is  struggle  and  victory  :  and  here  is  profit.  Can 
man  ask  more  from  fortune  ?  Dukes  and  Rothschilds  may  be 
envious  of  such  a  man. 

Though  Ridley  has  had  his  trials  and  troubles,  as  we  shall 
presently  learn,  his  art  has  mastered  them  all.  Black  care 
may  have  sat  in  crupper  on  that  Pegasus,  but  has  never  un- 
horsed the  rider.  In  certain  minds,  art  is  dominant  and  supe- 
rior to  all  beside — stronger  than  love,  stronger  than  hate,  or 
care,  or  penury.  As  soon  as  the  fever  leaves  the  hand  free,  it 
is  seizing  and  fondling  the  pencil.  Love  may  frown  and  be 
false,  but  the  other  mistress  never  will.  She  is  always  true  : 
always  new  :  always  the  friend,  companion,  inestimable  con- 
soler. So  John  James  Ridley  sat  at  his  easel  from  breakfast 
till  sundown,  and  never  left  his  work  quite  willingly.  I  wonder 
are  men  of  other  trades  so  enamored  of  theirs  ;  whether  lawyers 
cling  to  the  last  to  their  darling  reports  ;  or  writers  prefer 
their  desks  and  inkstands  to  society,  to  friendship,  to  dear  idle- 
ness ?  I  have  seen  no  men  in  life  loving  their  profession  so 
much  as  painters,  except,  perhaps,  actors,  who,  when  not 
engaged  themselves,  always  go  to  the  play. 

Before  this  busy  easel  Phil  would  sit  for  hours,  and  pour 
out  endless  talk  and  tobacco-smoke.  His  presence  was  a 
\lelight  to  Ridley's  soul  ;  his  face  a  sunshine  ;  his  voice  a  cor- 
dial. ^^'eakly  himself,  and  almost  infirm  of  body,  with  sensibil- 
ities tremulously  keen,  the  painter  most  admired  amongst  men 
strength,  health,  good  spirits,  good  breeding.  Of  these,  in  his 
youth,  Philip  had  a  wealth  of  endowment ;  and  I  hope  these 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  1G3 

precious  gifts  of  fortune  have  not  left  him  in  his  maturer  age. 
I  do  not  say  that  with  all  men  Philip  was  so  popular.  There 
are  some  who  never  can  pardon  good  fortune,  and  in  the  com- 
pany of  gentlemen  are  on  the  watch  for  offence  ;  and,  no  doubt, 
in  his  course  through  life,  poor  downright  Phil  trampled  upon 
corns  enough  of  those  w  ho  met  him  in  his  way.  "  Do  you 
know  why  Ridley  is  so  fond  of  Firmin  ?  "  asked  Jarman, 
''  Because  Firmin's  father  hangs  on  to  the  nobility  by  the  pulse, 
whilst  Ridley,  you  know,  is  connected  with  them  through  the 
side-board."  So  Jarman  had  the  double  horn  for  his  adver- 
sary :  he  could  despise  a  man  for  not  being  a  gentleman,  and 
insult  him  for  being  one;  I  have  met  with  people  in  the  world 
with  whom  the  latter  offence  is  an  unpardonable  crime — a  cause 
of  ceaseless  doubt,  division,  and  suspicion.  What  more  com- 
mon or  natural,  Bufo,  than  to  hate  another  for  being  what  you 
are  not?     The  story  is  as  old  as  frogs,  bulls,  and  men. 

Then,  to  be  sure,  besides  your  enviers  in  life,  there  are 
your  admirers.  Beyond  wit,  which  he  understood — beyond 
genius,  which  he  had — Ridley  admired  good  looks  and  man- 
ners, and  always  kept  some  simple  hero  whom  he  loved  secretly 
to  cherish  and  worship.  He  loved  to  be  amongst  beautiful 
women  and  aristocratical  men.  Philip  Firmin,  with  his  repub- 
lican notions  and  downright  bluntness  of  behavior  to  all  men 
of  rank  superior  to  him,  had  a  grand  high  manner  of  his  own ; 
and  if  he  had  scarce  twopence  in  his  pocket,  would  have  put 
his  hands  in  them  with  as  much  independence  as  the  greatest 
dandy  who  ever  sauntered  on  Pall  Mall  pavement.  What  a 
coolness  the  fellow  had  !  Some  men  may,  not  unreasonably, 
have  thought  it  impudence.  It  fascinated  Ridley.  To  be  such 
a  man  ;  to  have  such  a  figure  and  manner  ;  to  be  able  to  look 
society  in  the  face,  slap  it  on  the  shoulder,  if  you  were  so 
minded,  and  hold  it  by  the  button — what  would  not  Ridley 
give  for  such  powers  and  accomplishments .''  You  will  please 
to  bear  in  mind,  I  am  not  saying  that  J.  J.  was  right,  only  that 
he  was  as  he  w'as.  I  hope  we  shall  have  nobody  in  this  story 
without  his  little  faults  and  peculiarities.  Jarman  was  quite 
right  when  he  said  Ridley  loved  fine  company.  I  believe  his 
pedigree  gave  him  secret  anguishes.  He  would  rather  have 
been  gentleman  than  genius  ever  so  great ;  but  let  you  and  me, 
who  have  no  weaknesses  of  our  own,  try  and  look  charitably  on 
this  confessed  foible  of  my  friend. 

J.  J.  never  thought  of  rebuking  Philip  for  being  idle.  Phil 
was  as  the  lilies  of  the  field,  in  the  painter's  opinion.  He  was 
«ot  called  upon  to  toil  or  spin ;  but  to  take  his  ease,  and  grow- 


,^4  /'//^"  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

and  bask  in  sunshine,  and  be  arrayed  in  glory.  The  little 
clique  of  painters  knew  what  Firmin's  means  were.  Thirty 
thousand  pounds  of  his  own.  Thirty  thousand  pounds  down, 
sir;  and  the  inheritance  of  his  father's  immense  fortune  !  A 
splendor  emanated  from  this  gifted  young  man.  His  opinions, 
his  jokes,  his  laughter,  his  song,  had  the  weight  of  thirty  thou- 
sand down,  sir  ;  and  &c.,  &:c.  What  call  had  he  to  work  ? 
Would  you  set  a  young  nobleman  to  be  an  apprentice  ?  Philip 
was  free  to  be  as  idle  as  any  lord,  if  he  liked.  He  ought  to 
wear  fine  clothes,  ride  fine  horses,  dine  off  plate,  and  drink 
champagne  every  day.  J.  J.  would  work  quite  cheerfully  till 
sunset,  and  have  an  eightpenny  plate  of  meat  in  Wardour 
Street  and  a  glass  of  porter  for  his  humble  dinner.  At  the 
"  Haunt,"  and  similar  places  of  Bohemian  resort,  a  snug  place 
near  the  fire  was  always  found  for  Firmin.  Fierce  republican 
as  he  was,  Jarman  had  a  smile  for  his  lordship,  and  used  to 
adopt  particularly  dandified  airs  when  he  had  been  invited  to 
Old  Parr  Street  to  dinner.  I  dare  say  Philip  liked  flattery.  I 
own  that  he  was  a  little  weak  in  this  respect,  and  that  you  and 
I,  my  dear  sir,  are,  of  course,  far  his  superiors.  J.  J.,  who 
loved  him,  would  have  had  him  follow  his  aunt's  and  cousin's 
advice,  and  live  in  better  company ;  but  I  think  the  painter 
would  not  have  liked  his  pet  to  soil  his  hands  with  too  much 
work,  and  rather  admired  Mr.  Phil  for  being  idle. 

The  Little  Sister  gave  him  advice,  to  be  sure,  both  as  to  the 
company  he  should  keep  and  the  occupation  which  was  whole- 
some for  him.  But  when  others  of  his  acquaintance  hinted 
that  his  idleness  would  do  him  harm,  she  would  not  hear  of 
their  censure.  "Whv  should  he  work  if  he  don't  choose?" 
she  asked.  "  He  has  '  no  call  to  be  scribbling  and  scrabbling. 
You  wouldn't  have  him  sitting  all  day  painting  little  dolls' 
heads  on  canvas,  and  working  like  a  slave.  A  pretty  idea, 
indeed  !  His  uncle  will  get  him  an  appointment.  That's  the 
thing  Jie  should  have.  He  should  be  secretary  lo  an  ambas- 
sador abroad,  and  he  7t'///be!"  In  fact  Phil,  at  this  period, 
used  to  announce  his  wish  to  enter  the  diplomatic  service,  and 
his  hope  that  Lord  Ringwood  would  further  his  views  in  that 
respect.  Meanwhile  he  was  the  king  of  Thornhaugh  Street. 
He  might  be  as  idle  as  he  chose,  and  Mrs.  Brandon  had  always 
a  smile  for  him.  He  might  smoke  a  great  deal  too  much,  but 
she  worked  dainty  little  cigar-cases  for  him.  She  hemmed  his 
fine  cambric  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  embroidered  his  crest 
at  the  corners.  She  worked  him  a  waistcoat  so  splendid  that 
he  almost  blushed  to  wear  it,  gorgeous  as  he  was  in  apparel  at 


ox  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  165 

this  period,  and  sumptuous  in  chains,  studs,  and  haberdashery. 
I  fear  Dr.  Firniin,  sighing  out  his  disappointed  hopes  in  respect 
of  his  son,  has  rather  good  cause  for  his  dissatisfaction.  IJut 
of  these  remonstrances  the  Little  Sister  would  not  hear.  "  Idle, 
why  not  ?  Why  should  he  work  ?  Boys  will  be  boys.  I  dare 
say  his  grumbling  old  Pa  was  not  better  than  Philip  when  he 
was  young  !  "  And  this  she  spoke  with  a  heightened  color  in 
her  little  face,  and  a  defiant  toss  of  her  head,  of  which  I  did 
not  understand  all  the  significance  then  ;  but  attributed  her 
eager  partisanship  to  that  admirable  injustice  which  belongs  to 
all  good  women,  and  for  which  let  us  be  daily  thankful.  I 
know,  dear  ladies,  you  are  angry  at  this  statement.  But,  even 
at  the  risk  of  displeasing  >v?^,  we  must  tell  the  truth.  You 
would  wish  to  represent  yourselves  as  equitable,  logical,  and 
strictly  just.  So,  I  dare  say  Dr.  Johnson  would  have  liked 
Mrs.  Thrale  to  say  to  him,  "  Sir,  your  manners  are  graceful ; 
your  person  elegant,  cleanly,  and  eminently  pleasing  ;  your 
appetite  small  (especially  for  tea),  and  your  dancing  equal  to 
the  Violetta's ; "  which,  you  perceive,  is  merely  ironical. 
Women  equitable,  logical,  and  strictly  just !  Mercy  upon  us  ! 
If  they  were,  population  would  cease,  the  world  would  be  a 
howling  wilderness.  Well,  in  a  word,  this  Little  Sister  petted 
and  coaxed  Philip  Firmin  in  such  an  absurd  way  that  every 
one  remarked  it — those  who  had  no  friends,  no  sweethearts,  no 
mothers,  no  daughters,  no  wives,  and  those  who  were  petted, 
and  coaxed,  and  spoiled  at  home  themselves ;  as  I  trust,  dearly 
beloved,  is  your  case. 

Now,  again,  let  us  admit  that  Philip's  father  had  reason  to 
be  angry  with  the  boy,  and  deplore  his  son's  taste  for  low  com- 
pany ;  but  excuse  the  young  man,  on  the  other  hand,  somewhat 
for  his  fierce  revolt  and  profound  distaste  at  much  in  his  home 
circle  which  annoyed  him.  "  By  heaven  !  "  he  would  roar  out, 
pulling  his  hair  and  whiskers,  and  with  many  fierce  ejaculations, 
according  to  his  wont,  "  the  solemnity  of  those  humbugs  sickens 
me  so,  that  I  should  like  to  crown  the  old  bishop  with  the  soup- 
tureen,  and  box  Baron  Bumpsher's  ears  with  the  saddle  of  mut- 
ton. At  my  aunt's,  the  humbug  is  just  the  same.  It's  better 
done,  perhaps  ;  but  oh,  Pendennis  !  if  you  could  but  know  the 
pangs  which  tore  into  my  heart,  sir,  the  vulture  which  gnawed 
at  this  confounded  liver,  when  I  saw  women — women  who  ought 
to  be  pure — women  who  ought  to  be  like  angels — women  who 
ought  to  know  no  art  but  that  of  coaxing  our  griefs  away  and 
soothing  our  sorrows — fawning,  and  cringeing,  and  scheming  ; 
cold  to  this   person,  humble  to  that,  flattering  to  the  rich,  and 


t66  the  adventures  of  rillLJP 

indifferent  to  the  humble  in  station.  I  tell  you  1  have  seen  all 
this,  Mrs.  I'endennis  !  I  won't  mention  names,  but  I  have  met 
with  those  who  have  made  me  old  before  my  time — a  hundred 
years  old  !  The  zest  of  life  is  passed  from  me  "  (here  Mr.  Phil 
would  gulp  a  bumper  from  the  nearest  decanter  at  hand).  "  But 
if  1  like  what  your  husband  is  pleased  to  call  low  society,  it  is 
because  I  have  seen  the  other.  I  have  dangled  about  at  fine 
parties,  and  danced  at  fashionable  balls.  1  have  seen  mothers 
bring  their  virgin  daughters  up  to  battered  old  rakes,  and  ready 
to  sacrifice  their  innocence  for  fortune  or  a  title.  The  atmos- 
phere of  those  polite  drawing-rooms  stifles  me.  I  can't  bow  the 
knee  to  the  horrible  old  Mammon.  I  walk  about  in  the  crowds 
as  lonely  as  if  I  was  in  a  wilderness  ;  and  don't  begin  to  breathe 
freely  until  I  get  some  honest  tobacco  to  clear  the  air.  As  for 
your  husband  "  (meaning  the  writer  of  this  memoir),  "  he  can- 
not help  himself ;  he  is  a  wordling,  of  the  earth,  earthy.  If 
a  duke  were  to  ask  him  to  dinner  to-morrow,  the  parasite  owns 
that  he  would  go.  Allow  me,  my  friends,  my  freedom,  my 
rough  companions,  in  their  work-day  clothes.  I  don't  hear  such 
lies  and  flatteries  come  from  behind  pipes,  as  used  to  pass 
from  above  white  chokers  when  I  was  in  the  world."  And  he 
would  tear  at  his  cravat,  as  though  the  mere  thought  of  the 
world's  conventionality  wellnigh  strangled  him. 

This,  to  be  sure,  was  in  a  late  state  of  his  career,  but  I 
take  up  t'he  biography  here  and  there,  so  as  to  give  the  best  idea 
I  may  of  my  friend's  character.  At  this  time— he  is  out  of  the 
country  just  now,  and  besides,  if  he  saw  his  own  likeness  staring 
him  in  the  face,  I  am  confident  he  would  not  know  it — Mr, 
Philip,  in  some  things,  was  as  obstinate  as  a  mule,  and  in  others 
as  weak  as  a  woman.  He  had  a  childish  sensibility  for  what 
was  tender,  helpless,  pretty  or  pathetic ;  and  a  mighty  scorn  of 
imposture,  wherever  he  found  it.  He  had  many  good  purposes, 
which  were  often  very  vacillating,  and  were  but  seldom  performed. 
He  had  a  vast  number  of  evil  habits,  whereof,  you  know,  idle- 
ness is  said  to  be  the  root.  Many  of  these  evil  propensities  he 
coaxed  and  cuddled  with  much  care  ;  and  though  he  roared  out 
peccai'i  most  frankly  when  charged  with  his  sins,  this  criminal 
would  fall  to  peccation  very  soon  after  promising  amendment. 
What  he  liked  he  would  have.  What  he  disliked  he  could  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  be  found  to  do.  He  liked  good  dinners, 
good  wine,  good  horses,  good  clothes,  and  late  hours ;  and  in 
all  these  comforts  of  life  (or  any  others  which  he  fancied,  or 
which  were  within  jiis  means)  he  indulged  himself  with  perfect 
freedom.     He  hated  hypocrisy  on  his  own  part,  and  hypocrites 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  167 

in  general.  He  said  everything  that  came  into  his  mind  al)out 
things  and  people ;  and,  of  course,  was  often  wrong  and  often 
prejudiced,  and  often  occasioned  howls  of  indignation  or  ma- 
lignant whispers  of  hatred  by  his  free  speaking.  He  believed 
everything  that  was  said  to  him  until  his  informant  had  misled 
him  once  or  twice,  after  which  he  would  believe  nothing.  And 
here  you  will  see  that  his  impetuous  credulity  was  as  absurd 
as  the  subsequent  obstinacy  of  his  unbelief.  My  dear  young 
friend,  the  profitable  way  in  life  is  the  middle  way.  Don't  quite 
believe  anybody,  for  he'  may  mislead  you ;  neither  disbelieve 
him,  for  that  is  uncomplimentary  to  your  friend.  Black  is  not 
so  very  black  ;  and  as  for  white,  hon  Dim  !  in  our  climate  what 
paint  will  remain  white  long  ?  If  Philip  was  self-indulgent,  I 
suppose  other  people  are  self-indulgent  likewise  :  and  besides 
you  know,  your  faultless  heroes  have  ever  so  long  gone  out  of 
fashion.  To  be  young,  to  be  good-looking,  to  be  healthy,  to  be 
hungry  three  times  a  day,  to  have  plenty  of  money,  a  great  alac- 
rity of  sleeping,  and  nothing  to  do — all  these,  I  dare  say,  are 
very  dangerous  temptations  to  a  man,  but  I  think  I  know  some 
who  would  like  to  undergo  the  dangers  of  the  trial.  Suppose 
there  be  holidays,  is  there  not  work-time  too  ?  Suppose  to-day 
is  feast-day  \  may  not  tears  and  repentance  come  to-morrow  ? 
Such  times  are  in  store  for  Master  Phil,  and  so  please  to  let 
him  have  rest  and  comfort  for  a  chapter  or  two. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IMPLETUR  VETERIS  BACCHI. 


That  time,  that  merry  time,  of  Brandon's,  of  Bohemia,  of 
oysters,  of  idleness,  of  smoking,  of  song  at  night  and  profuse 
soda-water  in  the  morning,  of  a  pillow,  lonely  and  bachelor  it 
is  true,  but  with  few  cares  for  bedfellows,  of  plenteous  pocket- 
money,  of  ease  for  to-day  and  little  heed  for  to-morrow,  was 
often  remembered  by  Philip  in  after  days.  Mr.  Phil's  views  of 
life  were  not  very  exalted,  were  they  }  The  fruits  of  this  world, 
which  he  devoured  with  such  gusto,  I  must  own  were  of  the 
common  kitchen-garden  sort ;  and  the  lazy  rogue's  ambition 
went  no  farther  than  to  stroll  along  the  sunshiny  wall,  eat  his 
fill,  and  then  repose  comfortably  in  the  arbor  under  the  arched 
vine.     Why  did  Phil's  mother's  parents  leave  her  thirty  thou- 


1 68  THE  A  D  J  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

sand  pounds?  I  dare  say  some  misguided  people  would  be 
glad  to  do  as  much  for  ihcir  sons  ;  but,  if  1  have  ten,  1  am 
determined  they  shall  either  have  a  liundred  thousand  a  piece, 
or  else  bare  bread  and  cheese.  "  Man  was  made  to  labor,  and 
to  be  lazy,"  Phil  would  affirm  with  his  usual  energy  of  expres- 
sion. "  When  the  Indian  warrior  goes  on  the  hunting  path,  he 
is  sober,  active,  indomitable.  No  dangers  fright  him,  and  no 
labors  tire.  He  endures  the  cold  of  the  winter  ;  he  couches  on 
the  forest  leaves  ;  he  subsists  on  frugal  roots  or  the  casual  spoil 
of  his  bow.  When  he  returns  to  his  village,  he  gorges  to 
repletion  ;  he  sleeps,  perhaps,  to  excess.  When  the  game  is 
devoured,  and  the  fire-water  exhausted,  again  he  sallies  forth 
into  the  wilderness  ;  he  outclimbs  the  'possum  and  he  throttles 
the  bear.  I  am  the  Indian  :  and  this  'Haunt'  is  my  wigwam! 
Barbara  my  squaw,  bring  me  oysters  ;  bring  me  a  jug  of  the 
frothing  black  beer  of  the  pale-faces,  or  I  will  hang  up  thy  scalp 
on  my  tent-pole  ? "  And  old  Barbara,  the  good  old  attendant 
of  this  "  Haunt  "  of  Bandits,  would  say,  "  Law,  Mr.  Philip,  how 
you  do  go  on,  to  be  sure  !  "  Where  is  the  "  Haunt  "  now  ?  and 
where  are  the  merry  men  all  who  there  assembled  }  The  sign 
is  down  ;  the  song  is  silent ;  the  sand  is  swept  from  the  floor  ; 
the  pipes  are  broken,  and  the  aslies  are  scattered. 

A  little  more  gossip  about  his  merry  days,  and  we  have  done. 
He,  Philip,  was  called  to  the  bar  in  due  course,  and  at  his  call- 
supper  we  assembled  a  dozen  of  his  elderly  and  youthful  friends. 
The  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings  were  given  up  to  him 
for  this  day.  Mr.  Van  John,  I  think,  was  away  attending  a 
steeple-chase  ;  but  Mr.  Cassidy  was  with  us,  and  several  of 
Philip's  acquaintances  of  school,  college,  and  the  world.  There 
was  Philip's  father,  and  Philip's  uncle  Twysden,  and  I,  Phil's 
revered  and  respectable  school  senior,  and  others  of  our  ancient 
seminary.  There  was  Burroughs,  the  second  wrangler  of  his 
year,  great  in  metaphysics,  greater  with  the  knife  and  fork. 
There  was  Stackpole,  Eblana's  favorite  child — the  glutton  of 
all  learning,  the  master  of  many  languages,  who  stuttered  and 
blushed  when  he  spoke  his  own.  There  was  Pinkerton,  who, 
albeit  an  ignoramus  at  the  university,  was  already  winning  pro- 
digious triumphs  at  the  Parliamentary  bar,  and  investing  in 
Consols  to  the  admiration  of  all  his  contemporaries.  There 
was  Rosebury  the  beautiful,  the  May-Fair  pet  and  delight  of 
Almack's,  the  cards  on  whose  mantel-piece  made  all  men  open 
the  eyes  of  wonder,  and  some  of  us  dart  the  scowl  of  envy. 
There  was  my  Lord  Egham,  Lord  Ascot's  noble  son.  There 
was  Tom  Dale,  who  having  carried  on  his  university  career  too 


ON-  ins  WAY  TIIROUGir  TI/F.    ]VORLD.  jOq 

splendidly,  had  come  to  j^rief  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  was  now 
meekly  earning  his  bread  in  the  reporters'  gallery,  alongside  of 
Cassidy.  There  was  Macbride,  who,  having  thrown  up  his 
fellowship  and  married  his  cousin,  was  now  doing  a  brave  battle 
with  poverty,  and  making  literature  feed  him  until  law  should 
reward  him  more  splendidly.  There  was  Haythorn,  the  country 
gentleman,  who  ever  remembered  his  old  college  chums,  and 
kept  the  memory  of  that  friendship  up  by  constant  reminders 
of  pheasants  and  game  in  the  season.  There  were  Raby  and 
Maynard  from  the  Guards'  Club  (Maynard  sleeps  now  under 
Crimean  snows),  who  preferred  arms  to  the  toga  ;  but  carried 
into  their  military  life  the  love  of  their  old  books,  the  affection 
of  their  old  friends.  Most  of  these  must  be  mute  personages 
in  our  little  drama.  Could  any  chronicler  remember  the  talk 
of  all  of  them  ? 

Several  of  the  guests  present  were  members  of  the  Inn  of 
Court  (the  Upper  Temple),  which  had  conferred  on  Philip  the 
degree  of  Barrister-at-Law.  He  had  dined  in  his  wig  and  gown 
(Blackmore's  wig  and  gown)  in  the  inn-hall  that  day,  in  company 
with  other  members  of  his  inn ;  and,  dinner  over,  we  adjourned 
to  Phil's  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings,  where  a  dessert 
was  served,  to  which  Mr,  .Firmin's  friends  were  convoked. 

The  wines  came  from  Dr.  Firmin's  cellar.  His  servants 
were  in  attendance  to  wait  upon  the  company.  Father  and  son 
both  loved  splendid  hospitalities,  and,  so  far  as  creature  com- 
forts went,  Philip's  feast  was  richly  provided.  "  A  supper,  I 
love  a  supper  of  all  things  !  And  in  order  that  I  might  enjoy 
yours, T  only  took  a  single  mutton-chop  for  dinner!  "  cried  Mr. 
Twysden,  as  he  greeted  Philip.  Indeed,  we  found  him,  as  we 
arrived  from  Hall,  already  in  the  chambers,  and  eating  the 
young  barrister's  dessert.  "  He's  been  here  ever  so  long,"  says 
Mr.  Brice,  who  officiated  as  butler,  "  pegging  away  at  the  olives 
and  maccaroons.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  he  has  pocketed  some." 
There  was  small  respect  on  the  part  of  Brice  for  Mr.  Twysden, 
whom  the  worthy  butler  frankly  pronounced  to  be  a  stingy 
'umbug.  Meanwhile,  Talbot  believed  that  the  old  man  re- 
spected him,  and  always  conversed  with  Brice,  and  treated  him 
with  a  cheerful  cordiality. 

The  outer  Philistines  quickly  arrived,  and  but  that  the  wine 
and  men  were  older,  one  might  have  fancied  oneself  at  a  college 
wine-party.  Mr.  Twysden  talked  for  the  whole  company.  He 
was  radiant.  He  felt  himself  in  high  spirits.  He  did  the 
honors  of  Philip's  table.  Indeed,  no  man  was  more  hospitable 
with  other  folks'  wine.     Philip  himself  was  silent  and  nervous. 


7° 


THE  AOrEiVTUJiES  OF  PUT  LIP 


I  asked  him  if  the  awful  ceremony,  whicli  he  had  just  undergone) 
was  weighing  on  his  mind  ? 

He  was  looking  rather  anxiously  towards  the  door ;  and, 
knowing  somewliat  of  the  state  of  affairs  at  home,  I  thought 
that  probably  he  and  his  father  had  had  one  of  the  disputes 
which  of  late  days  had  become  so  frequent  between  them. 

The  company  were  nearly  all  assembled  and  busy  with  their 
talk,  and  drinking  the  doctor's  excellent  claret,  when  lirice  en- 
tering, announced  Dr.  Firmin  and  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt. 

"  Hang  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt,"  Philip  was  going  to  say  ;  but 
he  started  up,  went  forward  to  his  father,  and  greeted  him  very 
respectfully.  He  then  gave  a  bow  to  the  gentlemen  introduced 
as  Mr.  Hunt,  and  they  found  places  at  the  table,  the  doctor  tak- 
ing his  with  his  usual  handsome  grace. 

The  conversation,  which  had  been  pretty  brisk  until  Dr. 
Firmin  came,  drooped  a  little  after  his  appearance.  "  We  had 
an  awful  row  two  days  ago,"  Philip  whispered  to  me.  "We 
shook  hands  and  are  reconciled,  as  you  see.  He  won't  stay 
long.  He  will  be  sent  for  in  half  an  hour  or  so.  He  will  say 
he  has  been  sent  for  by  a  duchess,  and  go  and  have  tea  at  the 
club." 

Dr.  Firmin  bowled,  and  smiled  sadly  at  me,  as  Philip  was 
speaking.  I  dare  say  I  blushed  somewhat,  and  felt  as  if  the 
doctor  knew  what  his  son  was  saying  to  me.  He  presently  en- 
gaged in  conversation  with  Lord  Egham  ;  he  hoped  his  good 
father  was  well .? 

"  You  keep  him  so,  doctor.  You  don't  give  a  fellow  a 
chance,"  says  the  young  lord. 

"  Pass  the  bottle,  you  young  men  !  Hey  !  We  intend  to 
see  you  all  out !  "  cries  Talbot  Twysden,  on  pleasure  bent  and 
of  the  frugal  mind. 

"  Well  said,  sir,"  says  the  stranger  introduced  as  Mr.  Hunt ; 
"  and  right  good  wine.  Ha,  Firmin  !  I  think  I  know  the  tap  !  " 
and  he  smacked  his  lips  over  the  claret.  "  It's  your  twenty- 
five,  and  no  mistake." 

"The  red-nosed  individual  seems  a  connoisseur,"  whispered 
Rosebur)'  at  my  side. 

The  stranger's  nose,  indeed,  was  somewhat  rosy.  And  to 
this  I  may  add  that  his  clothes  were  black,  his  face  pale,  and 
not  well  shorn,  his  w^hite  neckcloth  dingy,  and  his  eyes  blood- 
shot. 

"He  looks  as  if  he  had  gone  to  bed  in  his  clothes,  and 
carries  a  plentiful  flue  about  his  person.  Who  is  your  father's 
esteemed  friend  1  "  continues  the  wag,  in  an  under  voice. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  171 

"You  heard  his  name,  Rosebury,"  says  the  young  barrister, 
gloomily. 

"  I  should  suggest  that  your  father  is  in  difficulties,  and  at- 
tended by  an  officer  of  the  sheriff  of  London,  or  perhaps  sub- 
ject to  mental  aberration,  and  placed  under  the  control  of  a 
keeper." 

"  Leave  me  alone,  do  !  "  groaned  Philip.  And  here  Twys- 
den,  who  was  longing  for  an  opportunity  to  make  a  speech, 
bounced  up  from  his  chair,  and  stopped  the  facetious  barrister's 
further  remarks  by  his  own  eloquence.  His  discourse  was  in 
praise  of  Philip,  the  new-made  barrister.  "  What !  if  no  one 
else  will  give  that  toast,  your  uncle  will,  and  many  a  heartfelt 
blessing  go  with  you  too,  my  boy  !  "  cried  the  little  man.  He 
was  prodigal  of  benedictions.  He  dashed  aside  the  tear-drop 
of  emotion.  He  spoke  with  perfect  fluency,  and  for  a  con- 
siderable period.  He  really  made  a  good  speech,  and  was 
greeted  with  deserved  cheers  when  at  length  he  sat  down. 

Phil  stammered  a  few  words  in  reply  to  his  uncle's  voluble 
compliments  ;  and  then  Lord  Ascot,  a  young  nobleman  of  much 
familiar  humor  proposed  Phil's  father,  his  health,  and  song. 
The  physician  made  a  neat  speech  from  behind  his  ruffled  shirt. 
He  was  agitated  by  the  tender  feelings  of  a  paternal  heart,  he 
said,  glancing  benignly  at  Phil,  who  was  cracking  filberts.  To 
see  his  son  happy;  to  see  him  surrounded  by  such  friends  ;  to 
know  him  embarked  this  day  in  a  profession  which  gave  the 
greatest  scope  for  talents,  the  noblest  reward  for  industr}',  was 
a  proud  and  happy  moment  to  him,  Dr.  Firmin.  What  had  the 
poet  observed  ?  "  Ingemias  didicisse fideliter  artes  "  (hear  hear  !) 
''  emollit  mores" — yes,  ''  emollit  mores."  He  drank  a  bumper  to 
the  young  barrister  (he  waved  his  ring,  with  a  thimbleful  of 
Avine  in  his  glass).  He  pledged  the  young  friends  whom  he 
saw  assembled  to  cheer  •  his  son  on  his  onward  path.  He 
thanked  them  with  a  father's  heart !  He  passed  his  emerald 
ring  across  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  lifted  them  to  the  ceiling, 
from  which  quarter  he  requested  a  blessing  on  his  boy.  As 
though  "  spirits  "  approved  of  his  invocation,  immense  thumps 
came  from  above,  along  with  the  plaudits  which  saluted  the 
doctor's  speech  from  the  gentlemen  round  the  table.  But  the 
upper  thumps  were  derisory,  and  came  from  Mr.  Buffers,  of  the 
third  floor,  who  chose  this  method  of  mocking  our  harmless 
little  festivities. 

I  think  these  cheers  from  the  facetious  Buffers,  though 
meant  in  scorn  of  our  party,  served  to  enliven  it  and  make  us 
laugh.     Spite  of  all  the  talking,  we  were  dull ;  and  I  could  not 


172  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 

but  allow  the  force  of  my  neighbor's  remark,  that  we  were  sat 
upon  and  smothered  by  the  old  men.  One  or  two  of  the 
younger  gentlemen  chafed  at  the  license  for  tobacco-smoking 
not  being  yet  accorded.  But  Philip  interdicted  this  amusement 
as  yet. 

"  Don't,"  he  said  ;  "  my  father  don't  like  it.  He  has  to  see 
patients  to-night ;  and  they  can't  bear  the  smell  of  tobacco  by 
their  bedsides." 

The  impatient  youths  waited  with  their  cigar-cases  by  theii 
sides.  They  longed  for  the  withdrawal  of  the  obstacle  to  their 
happiness. 

"  He  won't  go,  I  tell  you.  He'll  be  sent  for,"  growled 
Philip  to  me. 

The  doctor  was  engaged  in  conversation  to  the  right  and 
left  of  him,  and  seemed  not  to  think  of  a  move.  But,  sure 
enough,  at  a  few  minutes  after  ten  o'clock,  Dr.  Firmin's  foot- 
man entered  the  room  with  a  note,  which  Firmin  opened  and 
read,  as  Philip  looked  at  me  with  a  grim  humor  in  his  face.  I 
think  Phil's  father  knew  that  we  knew  he  was  acting.  How- 
ever, he  went  through  the  comedy  quite  gravely. 

"  A  physician's  time  is  not  his  own,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
handsome,  melancholy  head.  "  Good-by,  my  dear  lord  !  Pray 
remember  me  at  home  !  Good-night,  Philip,  my  boy,  and  good 
speed  to  you  in  your  career  !     Pray,  pray  don't  move." 

And  he  is  gone,  waving  the  fair  hand  and  the  broad-brimmed 
hat,  with  the  beautiful  white  lining.  Phil  conducted  him  to 
the  door,  and  heaved  a  sigh  as  it  closed  upon  his  father — a  sigh 
of  relief,  I  think,  that  he  was  gone. 

"  Exit  Governor.  What's  the  Latin  for  Governor  ?  "  says 
Lord  Egham,  who  possessed  much  native  humor,  but  not  very 
profound  scholarship.  "A  most  venerable  old  parent,  Firmin. 
That  hat  and  appearance  would  command  any  sum  of  money." 
"  Excuse  me,"  lisps  Rosebury,  "But  why  didn't  he  take  his 
elderly  friend  with  him — the  dilapidated  clerical  gentleman  who 
is  drinking  claret  so  freely  ?  And  also,  why  did  he  not  remove 
your  avuncular  orator  ?  Mr.  Twysden,  your  interesting  young 
neophyte  has  provided  us  with  an  excellent  specimen  of  the 
cheerful  produce  of  the  Gascon  grape." 

"  Well,  then,  now  the  old  gentleman  is  gone,  let  us  pass  the 
bottle  and  make  a  night  of  it.  Hey,  my  lord  t  "  cries  Twysden. 
"  Philip,  your  claret  is  good  !  I  say,  do  you  remember  some 
Chateau  Margaux  I  had,  which  Winton  liked  so  .?  It  must  be 
good  if  he  praised  it,  I  can  tell  you.  I  imported  it  myself,  and 
gave  him  the  address  of  the  Bordeaux  -..erchant;  and  he  said 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  ,73 

he  had  seldom  tasted  any  like  it.  Those  were  his  very  words. 
I  must  get  you  fellows  to  come  and  taste  it  some  day." 

"  Some  day  !  What  day  ?  Name  it,  generous  Amphitryon  ! " 
cries  Rosebury. 

"  Some  day  at  seven  o'clock.  With  a  plain,  quiet  dinner — 
a  clear  soup,  a  bit  of  fish,  a  couple  of  little  entre'es,  and  a  nice 
little  roast.  That's  my  kind  of  dinner.  And  we'll  taste  that 
claret,  young  men.  It  is  not  a  heavy  wine.  It  is  not  a  first- 
class  wine.  I  don't  mean  even  to  say  it  is  a  dear  wine,  but  it 
has  a  bouquet  and  a  pureness.  What,  you  will  smoke,  you  fel- 
lows ? " 

"  We  will  do  it,  Mr.  Twysden.  Better  do  as  the  rest  of  us 
do.     Try  one  of  these." 

The  little  man  accepts  the  proffered  cigar  from  the  young 
nobleman's  box,  lights  it,  hems  and  hawks,  and  lapses  into 
silence. 

"  I  thought  that  would  do  for  him,"  murmurs  the  facetious 
Egham.  "  It  is  strong  enough  to  blow  his  old  head  off,  and  I 
wish  it  would.  That  cigar,"  he  continues,  "  was  given  to  my 
father  by  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  who  had  it  out  of  the 
Queen  of  Spain's  own  box.  She  smokes  a  good  deal,  but 
naturallv  likes  'em  mild.     I  can  give  you  a  stronger  one." 

•'  Oh,  no.  I  dare  say  this  is  very  fine.  Thank  you  !  "  says 
poor  Talbot. 

"  Leave  him  alone,  can't  you  !  "  says  Philip.  "  Don't  make 
a  fool  of  him  before  the  young  men,  Egham." 

Phillip  still  looked  very  dismal  in  the  midst  of  the  festivity. 
He  was  thinking  of  his  differences  with  his  absent  parent. 

We  might  all  have  been  easily  consoled,  if  the  doctor  had 
taken  away  with  him  the  elderly  companion  whom  he  had  intro- 
duced to  Phil's  feast.  He  could  not  have  been  very  weJcome 
to  our  host,  for  Phil  scowled  at  his  guest,  and  whispered,  "  Hang 
Hunt !  "  to  his  neighbor. 

"  Hang  Hunt  " — the  Reverend  Tufton  Hunt  was  his  name — 
was  in  nowise  disconcerted  by  the  coolness  of  his  reception.  He 
drank  his  wine  very  freely  ;  addressed  himself  to  his  neighbors 
affably  ;  and  called  out  a  loud  "  Hear,  hear  !  "  to  Twysden, 
when  that  gentleman  announced  his  intention  of  making  a 
night  of  it.  As  Mr.  Hunt  warmed  with  wine  he  spoke  to  the 
table.  He  talked  a  great  deal  about  the  Ringwood  family,  had 
been  very  intimate  at  Wingate,  in  old  days,  as  he  told  Mr. 
Twysden,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  poor  Cinqbars,  Lord  Ring- 
wood's  only  son.  Now  the  memory  of  the  late  Lord  Cinqbars 
was  not  an  agreeable  recollection  to  the  relatives  of  the  house 


'74 


THE  AD  \' EX  TURKS  OE  PHILtP 


of  Ringwood.  He  was  in  life  a  dissipated  and  disreputable 
young  lord.  His  name  was  seldom  mentioned  in  his  family; 
never  by  his  father,  with  whom  he  had  had  many  quarrels. 

"  You  know  I  introduced  Cinqbars  to  your  father,  Philip  ?  " 
calls  out  tlie  dingy  clergyman. 

"  I  have  heard  you  mention  the  fact,"  says  Philip. 

"They  met  at  a  wine  in  my  room  at  Corpus.  Brummell 
Firmin  we  used  to  call  your  father  in  those  days.  He  was  the 
greatest  buck  in  the  university — always  a  dressy  man,  kept 
hunters,  gave  the  best  dinners  in  Cambridge.  We  were  a  wild 
set.  There  was  Cinqbars,  Brand  Firmin,  Beryl,  Toplady,  about 
a  dozen  of  us,  almost  all  noblemen  or  fellow-commoners — 
fellows  who  all  kept  their  horses  and  had  their  private  servants." 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  the  company,  who  yet  did  not 
seem  much  edified  by  the  college  recollections  of  the  dingy 
elderly  man. 

"  Almost  all  Trinity  men,  sir  !  We  dined  with  each  other 
week  about.  Many  of  them  had  their  tandems.  Desperate 
fellow  across  country  your  father  was.  And — but  we  don't  tell 
tales  out  of  school,  hey  1  " 

"  No  ;  please  don't,  sir,"  said  Philip,  clenching  his  fists, 
and  biting  his  lips.  The  shabby,  ill-bred,  swaggering  man  was 
eating  Philip's  salt ;  Phil's  lordly  ideas  of  hospitality  did  not 
allow  him  to  quarrel  with  the  guest  under  his  tent. 

"  When  he  went  out  in  medicine,  we  were  all  of  us  astonished. 
Why,  sir.  Brand  Firmin,  at  one  time,  was  the  greatest  swell  in 
the  university,"  continued  Mr.  Hunt,  "  and  such  a  plucky 
fellow  !  So  was  poor  Cinqbars,  though  he  had  no  stamina. 
He,  I,  and  Firmin,  fought  for  twenty  minutes  before  Cains' 
Gate  with  about  twenty  bargemen,  and  you  should  have  seen 
your  father  hit  out !  I  was  a  handy  one  iii  those  days,  too, 
with  my  fingers.  We  learned  the  noble  art  of  self-defence  in 
my  time,  young  gentlemen  !  We  used  to  have  Glover,  the 
boxer,  down  from  London  who  ga\  e  us  lessons.  Cinqbars  was 
a  pretty  sparrer — but  no  stamina.  Brandy  killed  him,  sir — 
brandy  killed  him  I  Why,  this  is  some  of  your  governor's  wine  ! 
He  and  I  have  been  drinking  it  to-night  in  Parr  Street,  and 
talking  o\er  old  times." 

"I  am  glad,  sir,  you  found  the  wine  to  your  taste,"  says 
Philip,  gravely. 

"  I  did,  Philip,  my  boy  !  And  when  your  father  said  he  was 
coming  to  your  wine,  I  said  I'd  come  too." 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  fling  him  out  of  the  window," 
groaned  Philip. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THKOUGH  THE   WORLD. 


175 


"A  most  potent,  grave  and,  reverend  senior,"  whispered 
Rosebury  to  me.  "  I  read  billiards,  Boulogne,  gambling- 
houses,  in  his  noble  lineaments.  Has  he  long  adorned  your 
family  circle,  Firmin  t  " 

"  I  found  him  at  home  about  a  month  ago  in  my  father's 
ante-room,  in  the  same  clothes,  with  a  pair  of  mangy  mus- 
taches on  his  face;  and  he  has  been  at  our  house  every  day  since." 

"  Echappc  (h  Toulon,"  says  Rosebury,  blandly,  looking 
towards  the  stranger.  Celacevoit.  Homme parfaittnent  dist'mgue. 
You  are  quite  right,  sir.  I  was  speaking  of  you,  and  asking 
our  friend  Philip  where  it  was  I  had  the  honor  of  meeting  you 
abroad  last  year?  This  courtesy,"  he  gently  added,  "will 
disarm  tigers." 

"  I  luas  abroad,  sir,  last  year,"  said  the  other,  nodding  his 
head. 

"Three  to  one  he  was  in  Boulogne  jail,  or  perhaps  offici- 
ating chaplain  at  a  gambling  house.  Stop,  I  have  it !  Baden 
Baden,  sir .'' " 

"  I  was  there,  safe  enough,"  says  the  clerg^^man.  "  It  is  a 
very  pretty  place  ;  but  the  air  of  the  Aprcs  kills  you.  Ha  !  ha ! 
Your  father  used  to  shake  his  elbow  when  he  was  a  youngster, 
too,  Philip  !  I  can't  help  calling  you  Philip.  I  have  known 
your  father  these  thirty  years.  We  were  college  chums,  you 
know." 

"Ah!  what  would  I  give,"  sighs  Rosebur}',  "if  that  vener- 
able being  would  but  address  me  by  my  Christian  name  ! 
Philip  do  something  to  make  your  party  go.  The  old  gentle- 
men are  throttling  it.  Sing  something,  somebody !  or  let  us 
drown  our  melancholy  in  wine.  You  expressed  your  approba- 
tion of  this  claret,  sir,  and  claimed  a  previous  acquaintance  with 
it }  " 

"  I've  drunk  two  dozen  of  it  in  the  last  month,"  says  Mr, 
Hunt,  with  a  grin. 

"  Two  dozen  and  four,  sir,"  remarks  Mr.  Price,  putting  a 
fresh  bottle  on  the  table. 

"  Well  said,  Brice  !  I  make  the  Firmin  Arms  my  head- 
quarters ;  and  honor  the  landlord  with  a  good  deal  of  my  com- 
pany," remarks  Mr.  Hunt. 

"  The  Firmin  Arms  is  honored  by  having  such  supporters  !" 
says  Phil,  glaring,  and  with  a  heaving  chest.  At  each  moment 
he  was  growing  more  and  more  angry  with  that  parson. 

At  a  certain  stage  of  conviviality  Phil  was  fond  of  talking 
of  bis  pedigree  ;  and,  though  a  professor  of  very  liberal  opin- 
ions, was  not  a  little  proud  of  some  of  his  ancestors. 


I  76  THE  AD  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  Oh,  come,  I  say  !     Sink  the  heraldry  !  "  cries  Lord  Egham. 

"  I  am  ver)  sorry  !  I  would  do  anything  to  oblige  you, 
but  I  can't  help  being  a  gentleman  !  "  growls  Philip. 

"Oh,  I  say  !  if  you  intend  to  come  King  Richard  III.  over 
us — "  breaks  out  my  lord. 

"  Egham !  your  ancestors  were  sweeping  counters  when 
mine  stood  by  King  Richard  in  that  righteous  fight !  "  shouts 
Philip. 

That  monarch  had  conferred  lands  upon  the  Ringwood 
family.  Richard  III.  was  Philip's  battle-horse;  when  he  trot- 
ted it  after  dinner  he  was  splendid  in  his  chivalry. 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  If  you  are  to  saddle  White  Surrey,  fight  Bos- 
worth  Field,  and  murder  the  kids  in  the  Tower! "  continues 
Lord  Egham. 

"  Serve  the  little  brutes  right !  "  roars  Phil.  "  They  were 
no  more  heirs  of  the  blood  royal  of  England  than " 

"  I  dare  say !  Only  I'd  rather  have  a  song  now  the  old 
boy  is  gone.  I  say,  you  fellows,  chant  something,  do  now ! 
Bar  all  this  row  about  Bosworth  Field  and  Richard  the  Third. 
Always  does  it  when  he's  beer  on  board — always  does  it,  give  you 
my  honor  !  "  whispers  the  young  nobleman  to  his  neighbor. 

"  I  am  a  fool !  I  am  a  fool !  "  cries  Phil,  smacking  his 
forehead.  "  There  are  moments  when  the  wrongs  of  my  race 
■luill  intervene.  It's  not  your  fault,  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-'im,  that 
you  alluded  to  my  arms  in  a  derisive  manner.  I  bear  you  no 
malice  !  Nay,  I  ask  your  pardon  !  Nay  !  I  pledge  you  in  this 
claret,  which  is  good,  though  it's  my  governor's.     In  our  house 

everything    isn't,    hum Bosh  !    its   twenty-five    claret,    sir ! 

Egham's  father  gave  him  a  pipe  of  it  for  saving  a  life  which 
which  might  be  better  spent;  and  I  believe  the  apothecary 
would  have  pulled  you  tlirough,  Egham,  just  as  well  as  my 
governor.  But  the  wine's  good  !  Good  !  Brice,  some  more 
claret!  A  song  !  Who  spoke  of  a  song?  Warble  us  some- 
thing, Tom  Dale  !     A  song,  a  song,  a  song !  " 

Wliereupon  the  exquisite  ditty  of  "  Moonlight  on  the  Tiles  " 
was  given  by  Tom  Dale  with  all  his  accustomed  humor.  Then 
politeness  demanded  that  our  host  should  sing  one  of  his  songs, 
and  as  I  have  heard  him  perform  it  many  times,  I  have  the 
privilege  of  here  reprinting  it:  premising  that  the  tune  and 
chorus  were  taken  from  a  German  song-book,  which  used  to 
delight  us  melodious  youth  in  bygone  days.  Philip  accord- 
ingly lifted  up  his  great  voice  and  sang  : — 


ON  Ills  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  ijj 

DOCTOR    LUTHER. 

"  For  the  souls'  edification 
Of  this  decent  congregation, 
Worthy  people  1  by  your  grant, 
I  will  sing  a  holy  chant, 

I  will  snig  a  holy  chant. 
If  the  ditty  sound  but  oddly, 
'Twas  a  father  wise  and  godly. 
Sang  it  so  long  ago. 

Then  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song. 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

"  He  by  custom  patriarchal. 
Loved  to  see  the  beaker  sparkle, 
And  he  thought  the  wine  improved. 
Tasted  by  the  wife  he  loved. 

By  the  kindly  lips  he  loved. 
Friends !  I  wish  this  custom  pious 
Duly  were  adopted  by  us, 
To  combine  love,  song,  wine  ; 

And  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

Who  loves  not  wiiie,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

"  Who  refuses  this  our  credo. 
And  demurs  to  drink  as  we  do. 
Were  he  holy  as  John  Knox, 
I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox. 

I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox, 
Aiid  from  out  this  congregation, 
With  a  solemn  commination, 
Banish  quick  the  heretic, 

Who  would  not  sing  as  Luther  sang. 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang, 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song. 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long." 

The  reader's  humble  servant  was  older  than  most  of  the 
party  assembled  at  this  symposium,  which  may  have  taken 
place  some  score  of  years  back  ;  but  as  I  listened  to  the 
noise,  the  fresh  laughter,  the  songs  remembered  out  of  old  uni- 
versity days,  the  talk  and  cant  phrases  of  the  old  school  of 
which  most  of  us  had  been  disciples,  dear  me,  I  felt  quite  young 
again,  and  when  certain  knocks  came  to  the  door  about  mid- 
night, enjoyed  quite  a  refreshing  pang  of  anxious  interest  for  a 
moment,  deeming  the  proctors  were  rapping,  having  heard  our 
shouts  in  the  court  below.  The  late  comer,  however,  was  only 
a  tavern  waiter,  bearing  a  supper-tray ;  and  we  were  free  to 
speechify,  shout,  quarrel,  and  be  as  young  as  we  liked,  with 
nobody  to  find  fault,  except,  perchance,  the  bencher  below,  who, 
I  dare  say,  was  kept  awake  with  our  noise. 

When  that  supper  arrived,  poor  Talbot  Twysden,  who  had 
come  so  far  to  enjoy  it,  was  not  in  a  state  to  partake  of  it. 
Lord  Egham's  cigar  had  proved  too  much  for  him  ;  and  the 


178  THE  ADVF.XTURES  OF  PHILIP 

worthy  gentleman  had  been  lying  on  a  sofa,  in  a  neighboring 
room,  for  some  time  past,  in  a  state  of  hopeless  collapse.  He 
had  told  us,  whilst  yet  capable  of  speech,  what  a  love  and  re- 
gard he  had  for  Philip  ;  but  between  him  and  Philip's  father 
there  was  but  little  love.  They  had  had  that  worst  and  most 
irremediable  of  quarrels,  a  difference  about  twopence-halfpenny 
in  the  division  of  the  property  of  their  late  father-in-law.  Fir- 
min  still  thought  Twysden  a  shabby  curmudgeon  ;  and  Twysden 
considered  Firmin  an  unprincipled  man.  When  Mrs.  Firmin 
was  alive,  the  two  poor  sisters  had  had  to  regulate  their  affec- 
tions by  the  marital  orders,  and  to  be  warm,  cool,  moder- 
ate, freezing,  according  to  their  husbands'  state  for  the  time 
being.  I  wonder  are  there  many  real  reconciliations  ?  Dear 
Tomkins  and  I  are  reconciled,  I  know.  We  have  met  and 
dined  at  Jones's.  And  ah!  how  fond  we  are  of  each  other! 
Oh,  very !  So  with  Firmin  and  Twysden.  They  met,  and 
shook  hands  with  perfect  animosity.  So  did  Twysden  junior 
and  Firmin  junior.  Young  Twysden  was  the  elder,  and  thrash- 
ed and  bullied  Phil  as  a  boy,  until  the  latter  arose  and  pitched 
his  cousin  down  stairs.  Mentally,  they  were  always  kicking 
each  other  down  stairs.  Well,  poor  Talbot  could  not  partake 
of  the  supper  when  it  came,  and  lay  in  a  piteous  state  on  tlie 
neighboring  sofa  of  the  absent  Mr.  Van  John. 

Who  would  go  home  with  him,  where  his  wife  must  be  anx- 
ious about  him  ?  I  agreed  to  convoy  him,  and  the  parson  said 
he  was  going  our  way,  and  would  accomjDany  us.  We  support- 
ed this  senior  through  the  Temple,  and  put  him  on  the  front 
seat  of  a  cab.  The  cigar  had  disgracefully  overcome  him  ;  and 
any  lecturer  on  the  evils  of  smoking  might  have  pointed  his 
moral  on  the  helpless  person  of  this  wretched  gentleman. 

The  evening's  feasting  had  only  imparted  animation  to  Mr. 
Hunt,  and  occasioned  an  agreeable  abafidon  in  his  talk.  I  had 
seen  the  man  before  in  Dr.  Firmin's  house,  and  own  that  his 
society  was  almost  as  odious  to  me  as  to  the  doctor's  son 
Philip.  On  all  subjects  and  persons,  Phil  was  accustomed  to 
speak  his  mind  out  a  great  deal  too  openly  :  and  Mr.  Hunt  had 
been  an  object  of  special  dislike  to  him  ever  since  he  had 
known  Hunt.  I  tried  to  make  the  best  of  the  matter.  Few 
men  of  kindly  feeling  and  good  station  are  without  a  dependent 
or  two.  Men  start  together  in  the  race  of  life  ;  and  Jack  wins, 
and  Tom  falls  by  his  side.  The  successful  man  succors 
and  reaches  a  friendly  hand   to  the  unfortunate  competitor 

Remembrance  of  early  times  gives  the  latter  a  sort  of  right 
to  call  on  his  luckier  comrade  ;  and  a  man  finds  himself  pity- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


179 


ing,  then  enduring,  then  embracing  a  companion  for  whom,  in 
old  days,  perhaps,  he  never  had  had  any  regard  or  esteem.  A 
prosperous  man  ought  to  have  followers  :  if  he  has  none,  he 
has  a  hard  heart. 

This  philosophizing  was  all  very  well.  It  was  good  for  a 
man  not  to  desert  the  friends  of  his  boyhood.  But  to  live  with 
such  a  cad  as  that — with  that  creature,  low,  swaggering,  be 
sotted — *'  How  could  his  father,  who  had  fine  tastes,  and  loved 
grand  company,  put  up  with  such  a  fellow  ?  "  asked  Phil.  "  I 
don't  know  when  the  man  is  more  odious  :  when  he  is  familiar, 
or  when  he  is  respectful ;  when  he  is  paying  compliments  to  my 
father's  guests  in  Parr  Street,  or  telling  hideous  old  stale  stories, 
as  he  did  at  my  call-supper." 

The  wine  of  which  Mr.  Hunt  freely  partook  on  that  occasion 
made  him,  as  I  have  said,  communicative.  "  Not  a  bad  fellow, 
our  host,"  he  remarked,  on  his  part,  when  we  came  away  to- 
gether. "  Bumptious,  good-looking,  speaks  his  mind,  hates  me, 
and  I  don't  care.  He  must  be  well  to  do  in  the  world,  Master 
Philip." 

I  said  I  hoped  and  thought  so. 

"  Brummell  Firmin  must  make  four  or  five  thousand  a  year. 
He  was  a  wild  fellow  in  my  time,  I  can  tell  you — in  the  days 
of  the  wild  Prince  and  Poins — stuck  at  nothing,  spent  his  own 
money,  ruined  himself,  fell  on  his  legs  somehow,  and  married  a 
fortune.  Some  of  us  have  not  been  so  lucky.  I  had  nobody 
to  pay  my  debts.  I  missed  my  fellowship  by  idling  and  dissi- 
pating with  those  confounded  hats  and  silver-laced  gowns.  I 
liked  good  company  in  those  days — always  did  when  I  could 
get  it.  If  you  were  to  write  my  adventures,  now,  you  would 
have  to  tell  some  queer  stories.  I've  been  everywhere  ;  I've 
seen  high  and  low — 'specially  low.  I've  tried  school-mastering, 
bear-leading,  newspapering,  America,  West  Indies.  I've  been 
in  every  city  in  Europe.  I  haven't  been  as  lucky  as  Brummell 
Firmin,  He  rolls  in  his  coach,  he  does,  and  I  walk  in  my  high- 
lows.  Guineas  drop  into  his  palm  every  day,  and  are  uncom- 
monly scarce  in  mine,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and  poor  old  Tufton 
Hunt  is  not  much  better  off  at  fifty  odd  than  he  was  when  he 
was  an  undergraduate  at  eighteen.  How  do  you  do,  old  gen- 
tleman .?  Air  do  you  good  >.  Here  we  are  at  Beaunash  Street ; 
hope  you've  got  the  key,  and  missis  won't  see  you."  A  large 
butler,  too  well  bred  to  express  astonishment  at  any  event  which 
occurred  out  of  doors,  opened  Mr.  Twysden's,  and  let  in  that 
lamentable  gentleman.  He  was  very  pale  and  solemn.  He 
gasped  out  a  few  words,  intimating  his  intention  to  fix  a  day  to 


I  So  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  riULTP 

ask  us  to  come  and  dine  soon,  and  taste  that  wine  that  Winton 
liked  so.  He  waved  an  unsteady  hand  to  us.  If  Mrs.  Twysden 
was  on  the  stairs  to  see  the  condition  of  her  lord,  I  hope  she 
took  possession  of  the  candle.  Hunt  grumbled  as  we  came  out ; 
"  He  might  have  offered  us  some  refreshment  after  bringing 
him  all  that  way  home.  It's  only  half-past  one.  There's  no 
good  in  going  to  bed  so  soon  as  that.  Let  us  go  and  have  a 
drink  somewhere.  I  know  a  very  good  crib  close  by.  No,  you 
won't  ?  I  say  "  (here  he  burst  into  a  laugh  which  startled  the 
sleeping  street),  "  I  know  what  you've  been  thinking  all  the 
time  in  the  cab.  You  are  a  swell, — you  are,  too  !  You  have 
been  thinking,  '  This  dreary  old  parson  w'ill  try  and  borrow 
money  from  me.'  But  I  won't,  my  boy.  I've  got  a  banker. 
Look  here  !  Fee,  faw,  fum.  You  understand.  I  can  get  the 
sovereigns  out  of  my  medical  swell  in  Old  Parr  Street.  I  pre- 
scribe bleeding  for  him — I  drew  him  to-night.  He  is  a  very 
kind  fellow,  Brummell  Firmin  is.  He  can't  deny  such  a  dear 
old  friend  anything.  Bless  him  !  "  And  as  he  turned  away  to 
some  midnight  haunt  of  his  own,  he  tossed  up  his  hand  in  the 
air.  I  heard  him  laughing  through  the  silent  street,  and 
Policeman  X,  tramping  on  his  beat,  turned  round  and  suspi- 
ciously eyed  him. 

Then  I  thought  of  Dr.  Firmin's  dark  melancholy  face  and 
eyes.  Was  a  benevolent  remembrance  of  old  times  the  bond 
of  union  between  these  men  ?  All  my  house  had  long  been 
asleep,  when  I  opened  and  gently  closed  my  house  door.  By 
the  twinkling  night-lamp  I  could  dimly  see  child  and  mother 
softly  breathing.  Oh,  blessed  they  on  whose  pillow  no  remorse 
sits  !     Happy  you  who  have  escaped  temptation  ! 

I  may  have  been  encouraged  in  my  suspicions  of  the  dingy 
clergyman  by  Philip's  own  surmises  regarding  him,  which  w-ere 
expressed  with  the  speaker's  usual  candor.  "  The  fellow  calls 
for  what  he  likes  at  the  '  Firmin  Arms,'  "  said  poor  Phil ;  "  and 
when  my  father's  big  wigs  assemble,  I  hope  the  rcAcrend  gentle- 
man dines  with  them.  I  should  like  to  see  him  hobnobbing 
with  old  Bumpsher,  or  slapping  the  bishop  on  the  back.  He 
lives  in  Sligo  Street,  round  the  corner,  so  as  to  be  close  to  our 
house  and  yet  j^reserve  his  own  elegant  independence.  Other- 
wise, I  wonder  lie  has  not  installed  himself  in  Old  Parr  Street, 
where  my  poor  mother's  bedroom  is  vacant.  The  doctor  does 
not  care  to  use  that  room.  I  remember  now  how  silent  they 
were  when  together,  and  Jiow  terrified  she  always  seemed  be- 
fore him.     What  has  he  done  ?     I  know  of  one  affair  in  his 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  i8i 

early  life.  Does  this  Hunt  know  of  any  more  ?  They  liave 
been  accomplices  in  some  conspiracy,  sir ;  I  dare  say  with  that 
young  Cinqbars,  of  whom  Hunt  is  for  ever  bragging  :  the  worthy 
son  of  the  worthy  Ringwood.  I  say,  does  wickedness  run  in 
the  blood  ?  My  grandfathers,  I  have  heard,  were  honest  men. 
Perhaps  they  were  only  not  found  out ;  and  the  family  taint 
will  show  in  me  some  day.  There  are  times  when  I  feel  the 
devil  so  strong  within  me,  that  I  think  some  day  he  must  have 
the  mastery.  I'm  not  quite  bad  yet :  but  I  tremble  lest  I  should 
go.  Suppose  I  were  to  drown,  and  go  down  ?  It's  not  a  jolly 
thing,  Pendennis,  to  have  such  a  father  as  mine.  Don't  hum- 
bug ttie  with  your  charitable  palliations  and  soothing  surmises. 
You  put  me  in  mind  of  the  world  then,  by  Jove,  you  do !  I 
laugh,  and  I  drink,  and  I  make  merry,  and  sing,  and  smoke 
endless  tobacco  ;  and  I  tell  you,  I  always  feel  as  if  a  little  sword 
was  dangling  over  my  skull  which  will  fall  some  day  and  split  it. 
Old  Parr  Street  is  mined,  sir, — mined  !  And  some  morning  we 
shall  be  blown  into  blazes — into  blazes,  sir  ;  mark  my  words  ! 
That's  why  I'm  so  careless  and  so  idle,  for  which  you  fellows 
are  always  bothering  and  scolding  me.  There's  no  use  in  set- 
tling clown  until  the  explosion  is  over,  don't  you  see  ?  Incedo 
per  ignes  suppositos,  and,  by  George  !  sir,  I  feel  my  bootsoles 
already  scorching.  Poor  thing  !  poor  mother  "  (he  apostro- 
phized his  mother's  picture  which  hung  in  the  room  where  we 
were  talking),  "  were  you  aware  of  the  secret,  and  was  it  the 
knowledge  of  that  which  made  your  poor  eyes  always  look  so 
frightened?  She  was  always  fond  of* you.  Pen.  Do  you  re- 
member how  pretty  and  graceful  she  used  to  look  as  she  lay  on 
her  sofa  up  stairs,  or  smiled  out  of  her  carriage  as  she  kissed 
her  hand  to  us  boys  ?  I  say,  what  if  a  woman  marries,  and  is 
coaxed  and  wheedled  by  a  soft  tongue,  and  runs  off,  and  after- 
wards finds  her  husband  has  a  cloven  foot  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Philip  !  " 

"  What  is  to  be  the  lot  of  the  son  of  such  a  man  ?  Is  my 
hoof  cloven,  too  ?  "  It  was  on  the  stove,  as  he  talked,  extended 
in  American  fashion.  "  Suppose  there's  no  escape  for  me,  and 
I  inherit  my  doom,  as  another  man  does  gout  or  consumption  1 
Knowing  this  fate,  what  is  the  use,  then,  of  doing  anything  in 
particular  ?  I  tell  you,  sir,  the  whole  edifice  of  our  present  life 
will  crumble  in  and  smash."  (Here  he  flings  his  pipe  to  the 
ground  with  an  awful  shatter.)  "  And  until  the  catastrophe 
comes,  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  setting  to  work,  as  you  call 
it .''  You  might  as  well  have  told  a  fellow,  at  Pompeii,  to  select 
a  profession  the  day  before  the  eruption." 


i82  THE  ADVENTURES' OF  PJIIIJP 

"  If  you  know  tliat  Vesuvius  is  going  to  burst  over  Pompeii/ 
I  said,  somewhat  alarmed,  "  why  not  go  to  Naples,  or  farther  if 
you  will  ? " 

"  Were  there  not  men  in  the  sentry-boxes  at  the  city  gates," 
asked  Philip,  "  who  might  have  run,  and  yet  remained  to  be 
burned  there  ?  Suppose,  after  all,  the  doom  isn't  hanging  over 
us, — and  the  fear  of  it  is  only  a  nervous  terror  of  mine  ?  Sup- 
pose it  comes,  and  I  survive  it  ?  The  risk  of  the  game  gives  a 
zest  to  it,  old  boy.  Besides,  there  is  Honor  :  and  some  One 
Else  is  in  the  case,  from  whom  a  man  could  not  part  in  an  hour 
of  danger."  And  here  he  blushed  a  fine  red,  heaved  a  great 
sigh,  and  emptied  a  bumper  of  claret. 


CHAPTER  VIH. 

WILL    BE    PRONOUNCED    TO    BE    CYNICAL   BY  THE   BENEVOLENT. 

Gentle  readers  will  not,  I  trust,  think  the  worst  of  their 
most  obedient  humble  servant  for  the  confession  that  I  talked 
to  my  wife  on  my  return  home  regarding  Philip  and  his  affairs. 
When  I  choose  to  be  frank,  I  hope  no  man  can  be  more  open 
than  myself :  when  I  have  a  mind  to  be  quiet,  no  fish  can  be 
more  mute.  I  have  kept  secrets  so  ineffably,  that  I  have  utterly 
forgotten  them,  until  my  memory  was  refreshed  by  people  who 
also  knew  them.  But  what  was  the  use  of  hiding  this  one  from 
the  being  to  whom  I  open  all,  or  almost  all — say  all,  except- 
ing just  one  or  two  of  the  closets  of  this  heart  ?  So  I  say  to 
her,  "  My  love  ;  it  is  as  I  suspected.  Philip  and  his  cousin 
Agnes  are  carrying  on  together." 

"  Is  Agnes  the  pale  one,  or  the  very  pale  one  ? "  asks  the 
joy  of  my  existence. 

"  No,  the  elder  is  Blanche.  They  are  both  older  than  Mr. 
Firmin :  but  Blanche  is  the  elder  of  the  two." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  saying  anything  malicious,  or  contrary  to 
the  fact,  am  I,  sir  "i  " 

No.  Only  I  know  by  her  looks,  when  another  lady's  name 
is  mentioned,  whether  my  wife  likes  her  or  not.  And  I  am 
bound  to  say,  though  this  statement  may  meet  with  a  denial, 
that  her  countenance  does  not  vouchsafe  smiles  at  the  mention 
of  all  ladies'  names.     "  You  don't  go  to  the  house  ?     You  and 


ON  Ills  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  183 

Mrs.  Twysden  ha\e  called  on  each  other,  and  there  the  matter 
has  stopped  ?  Oh,  I  know  !  It  is  because  poor  Talbot  brags 
so  about  his  wine,  and  gives  such  abominable  stuff,  that  you 
have  such  an  un-Christian  feeling  for  him  !" 

That  is  the  reason,  I  dare  say,"  says  the  lady. 

"  No.  It  is  no  such  thing.  Though  you  do  know  sherry 
from  port,  I  believe  upon  my  conscience  you  do  not  avoid  the 
Twysdens  because  they  give  bad  wine.  Many  others  sin  in  that 
way,  and  you  forgive  them.  You  like  your  fellow-creatures  better 
than  wine — some  fellow-creatures — and  you  dislike  some  fellow- 
creatures  worse  than  medicine.  You  swallow  them,  madam. 
You  say  nothing,  but  your  looks  are  dreadful.  You  make  wry 
faces  :  and  when  you  have  taken  them,  you  want  a  piece  of 
sweetmeat  to  take  the  taste  out  of  your  mouth." 

The  lady,  thus  wittily  addressed,  shrugs  her  lovely  shoulders. 
My  wife  exasperates  me  in  many  things  ;  in  getting  up  at  insane 
hours  to  go  to  early  church,  for  instance ;  in  looking  at  me  in  a 
particular  way  at  dinner,  when  I  am  about  to  eat  one  of  those 
entrees  which  Dr.  Goodenough  declares  disagree  with  me  ;  in 
nothing  more  than  in  that  obstinate  silence,  which  she  persists 
in  maintaining  sometimes  when  I  am  abusing  people,  whom  I 
do  not  like,  whom  she  does  not  like,  and  who  abuse  me.  This 
reticence  makes  me  wild.  What  confidence  can  there  be  between 
a  man  and  his  wife,  if  he  can't  say  to  her,  "  Confound  So-and- 
so,  I  hate  him  ;  "  or,  "  What  a  prig  What-d'ye-call-'im  is  !  "  or, 
What  a  bloated  aristocrat  Thingamy  has  become  since  he  got 
his  place  !  "  or  what  you  will  ? 

"  No,"  I  continue,  "  I  know  why  you  hate  the  Twysdens, 
Mrs.  Pendennis.  You  hate  them  because  they  move  in  a  world 
which  you  can  only  occasionally  visit.  You  envy  them  because 
they  are  hand-in-glove  with  the  great ;  because  they  possess  an 
easy  grace,  and  a  frank  and  noble  elegance  with  which  common 
country  people  and  apothecaries'  sons  are  not  endowed." 

"  My  dear  Arthur,  I  do  think  you  are  ashamed  of  being  an 
apothecary's  son  ;  you  talk  about  it  so  often,"  says  the  lady. 
Which  was  all  very  well  :  but  you  see  she  was  not  answering 
my  remarks  about  the  Twysdens. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear,"  I  say  then.  "  I  ought  not  to  be 
censorious,  being  myself  no  more  virtuous  than  my  neighbor." 

"  I  know  people  abuse  you,  Arthur ;  but  I  think  you  are  a 
very  good  sort  of  man,"  says  the  lady,  over  her  little  tea-tray. 

"  And  so  are  the  Twysdens  very  good  people — very  nice, 
artless,  unselfsh,  simple,  generous,  well-bred  people.  Mr.  Twys- 
den is  all  heart :  Twysden's  conversational  powers  are  remark- 


184  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

able  and  pleasing :  and  Philip  is  eminently  fortunate  in  getting 
one  of  those  charming  girls  for  a  wife." 

"  I've  no  patience  with  them,"  cries  my  wife,  losing  that 
quality  to  my  great  satisfaction  :  for  then  1  knew  I  had  found 
the  crack  in  Madam  Pendennis's  armor  of  steel,  and  had  smit- 
ten her  in  a  vulnerable  little  place. 

"  No  patience  with  them  ?  Quiet,  lady-like  young  women  !  " 
I  cry. 

"  Ah,"  sighs  my  wife,  "  what  have  they  got  to  give  Philip  in 
return  for " 

"  In  return  for  his  thirty  thousand  1  They  will  have  ten 
thousand  pounds  apiece  when  their  mother  dies." 

"  Oh  !  I  wouldn't  have  our  boy  marry  a  woman  like  one  of 
those,  not  if  she  had  a  million.  I  wouldn't,  my  child  and  my 
blessing  !  "  (This  is  addressed  to  a  little  darling  who  happens 
to  be  eating  sweet  cakes,  in  a  high  chair,  off  the  little  table  by 
his  mother's  side,  and  who,  though  he  certainly  used  to  cry  a 
good  deal  at  that  period,  shall  be  a  mute  personage  in  this  his- 
tory.) 

"  You  are  alluding  to  Blanche's  little  affair  with " 

"  No,  I  am  not,  sir  !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  which  one  I  meant,  then  ? Or  that 

notorious  disappointment  of  Agnes,  when  Lord  Farintosh  be- 
came a  widower  .?  If  he  wouldn't,  she  coukhi't,  you  know,  my 
dear.  And  I  am  sure  she  tried  her  best  :  at  least,  everybody 
said  so." 

"  Ah  !  I  have  no  patience  with  the  way  in  which  you  people 
of  the  world  treat  the  most  sacred  of  subjects — the  most  sacred, 
sir.  Do  you  hear  me  t  Is  a  woman's  love  to  be  pledged,  and 
withdrawn  every  day  t  Is  her  faith  and  purity  only  to  be  a  mat- 
ter of  barter,  and  rank,  and  social  consideration  }  I  am  sorry, 
because  I  don't  wish  to  see  Philip,  who  is  good,  and  honest, 
and  generous,  and  true  as  yet — however  great  his  faults  maybe 

— because    I   don't  wish  to  see  him  given  up   to Oh  !  its 

shocking,  shocking  !  " 

Given  up  to  what  ?  to  anything  dreadful  in  this  world,  or 
the  next  ?  Don't  imagine  that  Philip's  relations  thought  they 
were  doing  Phil  any  harm  by  condescending  to  marry  him,  or 
themselves  any  injury.  A  doctor's  son,  indeed !  Why,  the 
Twysdens  were  far  better  placed  in  the  world  than  their  kins- 
men of  Old  Parr  Street ;  and  went  to  better  houses.  The  year's 
levde  and  drawing-room  would  have  been  incomplete  without 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twysden.  There  might  be  families  with  higher 
titles,  more  wealth,  higher  positions ;  but  the  world  did  not 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  185 

contain  more  respectable  folks  then  the  Twysdens :  of  this 
every  one  of  the  family  was  convinced,  from  Talbot  himself 
down  to  his  heir.  If  somebody  or  some  Body  of  savans  would 
write  the  history  of  the  harm  that  has  been  done  in  the  world 
by  people  who  believe  themselves  to  be  virtuous,  what  a  queer, 
edifying  book  it  would  be,  and  how  poor  oppressed  rogues 
might  look  up !  Who  burn  the  Protestants  ? — the  virtuous 
Catholics,  to  be  sure.  Who  roast  the  Catholics  ? — the  virtuous 
Reformers.  Who  thinks  I  am  a  dangerous  character,  and 
avoids  me  at  the  club  ? — the  virtuous  Squaretoes.  Who  scorns  ? 
who  persecutes?  who  doesn't  forgive.^ — the  virtuous  Mrs. 
Grundy.  She  remembers  her  neighbor's  peccadilloes  to  the 
third  and  fourth  generation  ;  and  if  she  finds  a  certain  man 
fallen  in  her  path,  gathers  up  her  affrighted  garments  with  a 
shriek,  for  fear  the  muddy,  bleeding  wretch  should  contaminate 
her,  and  passes  on. 

I  do  not  seek  to  create  even  surprises  in  this  modest  history, 
or  condescend  to  keep  candid  readers  in  suspense  about  many 
matters  which  might  possibly  interest  them.  For  instance,  the 
matter  of  love  has  interested  novel-readers  for  hundreds  of 
years  past,  and  doubtless  will  continue  so  to  interest  them. 
Almost  all  young  people  read  love-books  and  histories  with 
eagerness,  as  oldsters  read  books  of  medicine,  and  whatever  it 
is — heart-complaint,  gout,  liver,  palsy — cry,  "  Exactly  so,  pre- 
cisely my  case  !  "  Phil's  first  love-affair,  to  which  we  are  now 
coming,  was  false.  I  own  it  at  once.  And  in  this  commence- 
ment of  his  career  I  believe  he  was  not  more  or  less  fortunate 
than  many  and  many  a  man  and  woman  in  this  world.  Sup- 
pose the  course  of  true  love  always  did  run  smooth,  and  every- 
body married  his  or  her  first  love.  Ah  !  what  would  marriage 
be.? 

A  generous  young  fellow  comes  to  market  with  a  heart  ready 
to  leap  out  of  his  waistcoat,  for  ever  thumping  and  throbbing, 
and  so  wild  that  he  can't  have  any  rest  till  he  has  disposed  of 
it.  What  wonder  if  he  falls  upon  a  wily  merchant  in  Vanity 
Fair,  and  barters  his  all  for  a  stale  bauble  not  worth  sixpence .-' 
Phil  chose  to  fall  in  love  with  his  cousin ;  and  I  warn  you  that 
nothing  will  come  of  that  passion,  except  the  influence  which  it 
had  upon  the  young  man's  character.  Though  my  wife  did  not 
love  the  Twysdens,  she  loves  sentiment,  she  loves  love-affairs 
— all  women  do.  Poor  Phil  used  to  bore  me  after  dinner  with 
endless  rodomontades  about  his  passion  and  his  charmer  ;  but 
my  wife  was  never  tired  of  listening.  "  You  are  a  selfish,  heart- 
less, blase  man  of  the  world,  you  are,"  he  would  say.     "  Your 


l86  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rirriJP 

own  immense  and  undeserved  good  fortune  in  the  matrimonial 
lottery  has  rendered  you  hard,  cold,  crass,  indifferent.  You 
have  been  asleep,  sir,  twice  to-night,  whilst  I  was  talking.  I 
will  go  up  and  tell  madam  everything.  She\\z.%  a  heart."  And 
presently,  engaged  with  my  book  or  my  after-dinner  doze,  I 
would  hear  Phil  striding  and  creaking  overhead,  and  plunging 
energetic  pokers  in  the  drawing-room  fire. 

Tiiirty  thousand  pounds  to  begin  with  ;  a  third  part  of  that 
sum  coming  to  the  lady  from  her  mother ;  all  the  doctor's  sav- 
ings and  property ; — here  certainly  was  enough  in  possession 
and  expectation  to  satisfy  many  young  couples  ;  and  as  Phil  is 
twenty-two,  and  Agnes  (must  I  own  it  ? )  twenty-five,  and  as 
she  has  consented  to  listen  to  the  warm  outpourings  of  the 
eloquent  and  passionate  youth,  and  exchange  for  his  fresh, 
new-minted,  golden  sovereign  heart,  that  used  little  threepenny- 
piece,  her  own — why  should  they  not  marry  at  once,  and  so  let 
us  have  an  end  of  them  and  this  history  ?  They  have  plenty  of 
money  to  pay  the  parson  and  the  post-chaise ;  they  may  drive 
off  to  the  country,  and  live  on  their  means,  and  lead  an  exist- 
ence so  humdrum  and  tolerably  happy,  that  Phil  may  grow  quite 
too  fat,  lazy,  and  unfit  for  his  present  post  of  hero  of  a  novel. 
But  stay — there  are  obstacles  ;  coy,  reluctant,  amorous  delays. 
After  all,  Philip  is  a  dear,  brave,  handsome,  wild,  reckless, 
blundering  boy,  treading  upon  everybody's  dress  skirts,  smash- 
ing the  little  Dresden  ornaments,  and  the  pretty  little  decorous 
gimcracks  of  society,  life,  conversation  ;  but  there  is  time  yet. 
Are  you  so  very  sure  about  that  money  of  his  mother's .-'  and 
how  is  it  that  his  father,  the  doctor,  has  not  settled  accounts 
with  him  yet?  Cest  louche.  A  family  of  high  jDOsition  and 
principle  must  look  to  have  the  money  matters  in  perfect  order, 
before  they  consign  a  darling  accustomed  to  every  luxury  to  the 
guardianship  of  a  confessedly  wild  and  eccentric,  though  gen- 
erous and  amiable,  young  man.  Besides  —  ah  !  besides — 
besides ! 

"  *  *  *  It's  horrible,  Arthur !  It's  cruel,  Arthur  !  It's  a 
shame  to  judge  a  w'oman  or  Christian  people  so  !  Oh  !  my 
loves  !  my  blessings !  would  I  sell  you  ? "  says  this  young 
mother,  clutching  a  little  belaced,  befurbelowed  being  to  her 
heart,  infantine,  squalling,  with  blue  shoulder-ribbons,  a  mottled 
little  arm  that  has  just  been  vaccinated,  and  the  sweetest  red 
shoes.  "  Would  I  sell  you  1  "  says  mamma.  Little  Arty,  I  say, 
squalls  ;  and  little  Nelly  looks  up  from  her  bricks  with  a  won- 
dering, whimpering  expression. 

Well,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  what  the  "  besides  "  is ;  but  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  187 

fact  is,  that  young  Woolcomb  of  the  Life  Guards  Green,  who 
has  inherited  immense  West  India  property,  and,  we  will  say, 
just  a  teaspoon ful  of  that  dark  blood  which  makes  a  man 
naturally  partial  to  blonde  beauties,  has  cast  his  opal  eyes  very 
warmly  upon  the  golden-haired  Agnes  of  late  ;  has  danced  with 
her  not  a  little  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Twysden's  barouche  appears 
by  the  Serpentine,  you  may  not  unfrequently  see  a  pair  of  the 
neatest  little  yellow  kid  gloves  just  playing  with  the  reins,  a  pair 
of  the  prettiest  little  boots  just  touching  the  stirrup,  a  magnifi- 
cent horse  dancing,  and  tittupping,  and  tossing,  and  performing 
the  most  graceful  caracoles  and  gambadoes,  and  on  the  magnifi- 
cent horse  a  neat  little  man  with  a  blazing  red  flower  in  his 
bosom,  and  glancing  opal  eyes,  and  a  dark  complexion,  and 
hair  so  very  black  and  curly  that  I  really  almost  think  in  some 
of  the  Southern  States  of  America  he  would  be  likely  to  meet 
with  rudeness  in  a  railway  car. 

But  in  England  we  know  better.  In  England  Grenville 
Woolcomb  is  a  man  and  a  brother.  Half  of  Arrowroot  Island, 
they  say,  belongs  to  him  ;  besides  Mangrove  Hall,  in  Hertford- 
shire; ever  so  much  property  in  other  counties,  and  that  fine 
house  in  Berkeley  Square.  He  is  called  the  Black  Prince 
behind  the  scenes  of  many  theatres  :  ladies  nod  at  him  from 
those  broughams  which,  you  understand,  need  not  be  particu- 
larized. The  idea  of  his  immense  riches  is  confirmed  by  the 
known  fact  that  he  is  a  stingy  Black  Prince,  and  most  averse  to 
parting  with  his  money,  except  for  his  own  adornment  or 
amusement.  When  he  receives  at  his  country-house,  his  enter- 
tainments are,  however,  splendid.  He  has  been  flattered, 
followed,  caressed  all  his  life,  and  allowed  by  a  fond  mother  to 
have  his  own  way ;  and  as  this  has  never  led  him  to  learning,  it 
must  be  owned  that  his  literary  acquirements  are  small,  and  his 
writing  defective.  But  in  the  management  of  his  pecuniary 
affairs  he  is  very  keen  and  clever.  His  horses  cost  him  less 
than  any  young  man's  in  England  w'ho  is  so  well  mounted.  No 
dealer  has  ever  been  known  to  get  the  better  of  him  ;  and, 
though  he  is  certainly  close  about  money,  when  his  wishes 
have  very  keenly  prompted  him,  no  sum  has  been  known  to 
stand  in  his  way. 

Witness  the  purchase  of  the .    But  never  mind  scandal. 

Let  bygones  be  bygones.  A  young  doctor's  son,  with  a 
thousand  a  year  for  a  fortune,  may  be  considered  a  catch  in 
some  circles,  but  not,  vous  concevez,  in  the  upper  regions  of 
society.  And  dear  woman — dear,  angelic,  highly  accomplished, 
respectable  woman — does  she  not  know  how  to  pardon  many 


1 88  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

frilings  in  our  sex  ?  Age  ?  psha  !  She  will  crown  my  bare  old 
poll  with  the  roses  of  her  youth.  Complexion  ?  What  contrast 
is  sweeter  or  more  touching  than  Desdemona's  golden  ringlets 
on  swart  Othello's  shoulder?  A  past  life  of  selfishness  and  bad 
company  ?  Come  out  from  among  the  swine,  my  prodigal,  and 
\  will  purify  thee  I 

This  is  what  is  called  cynicism,  you  know.  Then  I  suppose 
my  wife  is  a  cynic,  who  clutches  her  children  to  her  pure  heart, 
and  prays  gracious  heaven  to  guard  them  from  selfishness, 
from  worldliness,  from  heartlessness,  from  wicked  greed. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CONTAINS    ONE   RIDDLE   WHICH    IS   SOLVED,    AND    PERHAPS  SOME 

MORE. 

Mine  is  a  modest  muse,  and  as  the  period  of  the  story 
arrives  when  a  description  of  the  love-making  is  justly  due,  my 
Mnemosyne  turns  away  from  the  young  couple,  drops  a  little 
curtain  over  the  embrasure  where  they  are  whispering,  heaves 
a  sigh  from  her  elderly  bosom,  and  lays  a  finger  on  her  lip. 
Ah,  Mnemosyne  dear  !  we  will  not  be  spies  on  the  young  people. 
We  will  not  scold  them.  We  won't  talk  about  their  doings 
much.  When  we  were  young,  we  too,  perhaps,  were  taken  in 
under  Love's  tent ;  we  have  eaten  of  his  salt:  and  partaken 
of  his  bitter,  his  delicious  bread.  Now  we  are  padding  the 
hoof  lonely  in  the  wilderness,  we  will  not  abuse  our  host,  will 
we  ?  We  will  couch  under  the  stars,  and  think  fondly  of  old 
times,  and  to-morrow  resume  the  staff  and  the  journey. 

And  yet,  if  a  novelist  may  chronicle  any  passion,  its  flames, 
its  raptures,  its  whispers,  its  assignations,  its  sonnets,  its 
quarrels,  sulks,  reconciliations,  and  so  on,  the  history  of  such 
a  love  as  this  first  of  Phil's  may  be  excusable  in  print,  because 
I  don't  believe  it  was  a  real  love  at  all,  only  a  little  brief  delu- 
sion of  the  senses,  from  which  I  give  you  warning  that  our  hero 
will  recover  before  many  chapters  are  over.  What !  my  brave 
boy,  shall  we  give  your  heart  away  for  good  and  all,  for  better 
or  for  worse,  till  death  do  you  part  ?  What !  my  Cor}'don  and 
sighing  swain,  shall  we  irrevocably  bestow  you  upon  Phyllis, 
who,  all  the  time  you  are  piping  and  paying  court  to  her,  has 
Meliboeus  in  the  cupboard,  and  ready  to  be  produced  should 


LAURAS    FIRF.sniK. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  189 

he  prove  to  be  a  more  eligible  shepherd  than  t'other?  I  am 
not  such  a  savage  towards  my  readers  or  hero,  as  to  make  them 
undergo  the  misery  of  such  a  marriage. 

Philip  was  very  little  of  a  club  or  society  man.  He  seldom 
or  ever  entered  the  "  Megatherium,"  or  when  there  stared  and 
scowled  round  him  savagely,  and  laughed  strangely  at  the  ways 
of  the  inhabitants.  He  made  but  a  clumsy  figure  in  the  world, 
though  in  person,  handsome,  active,  and  proper  enough  ;  but 
he  would  for  ever  put  his  great  foot  through  the  World's  flounced 
skirts,  and  she  would  stare,  and  cry  out,  and  hate  him.  He  was 
the  last  man  who  was  aware  of  the  Woolcomb  flirtation,  when 
hundreds  of  people,  I  dare  say,  were  simpering  over  it. 

"  Who  is  that  little  man  who  comes  to  your  house,  and 
whom  I  sometimes  see  in  the  Park,  aunt — that  little  man  with 
the  very  white  gloves  and  the  ver}^  tawny  complexion  ?  "  asks 
Philip. 

"That  is  Mr.  Woolcomb,  of  the  Life  Guards  Green,"  aunt 
remembers. 

"An  officer  is  he  ?  "  says  Philip,  turning  round  to  the  girls. 
"I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  done  better  for  the  tur 
ban  and  C}'mbals."  And  he  laughs  and  thinks  he  has  said  a 
very  clever  thing.  Oh,  those  good  things  about  people  and 
against  people !  Never,  my  dear  young  friend,  say  them  to 
anybody — not  to  a  stranger,  for  he  will  go  away  and  tell ;  not 
to  the  mistress  of  your  affections,  for  3'OU  may  quarrel  with  her, 
and  then  shewWX  tell ;  not  to  your  son,  for  the  artless  child  will  re- 
turn to  his  schoolfellows  and  say  :  "Papa  says  Mr.  Blenkinsop  is 
a  muff."  My  child,  or  what  not,  praise  everybody ;  and  everybody 
will  smile  on  you  in  return,  a  sham  smile,  and  hold  you  out  a 
sham  hand  ;  and,  in  a  word,  esteem  you  as  you  deserve.  No. 
I  think  you  and  I  will  take  the  ups  and  the  downs,  the  roughs 
and^the  smooths  of  this  daily  existence  and  conversation.  We 
will  praise  those  whom  we  like,  though  nobody  repeat  our  kind 
sayings  ;  and  say  our  say  about  those  whom  w^e  dislike,  though 
we  are  pretty  sure  our  words  will  be  carried  by  tale-bearers,  and 
increased  and  multiplied,  and  remembered  long  after  we  have 
forgotten  them.  We  drop  a  little  stone — a  little  stone  that  is 
swallowed  up  and  disappears,  but  the  whole  pond  is  set  in  com- 
motion, and  ripples  in  continually  widening  circles  long  after 
the  original  little  stone  has  popped  down  and  is  out  of  sight. 
Don't  your  speeches  of  ten  years  ago — maimed,  distorted, 
bloated  it  may  be  out  of  all  recognition — come  strangely  back 
to  their  author  ? 

Phil,  five  minutes  after  he  had  made   the  joke,  so  entirely 


IQO 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PIIILIP 


forgot  his  saying  about  the  l)lack  Prince  and  the  cymbals,  that, 
when  Captain  Woolcoml:)  scowled  at  him  with  his  fiercest  eyes, 
young  Firmin  thought  that  this  was  the  natural  expression  of 
the  Captain's  swarthy  countenance,  and  gave  himself  no  further 
trouble  regarding  it.  "  By  George  !  sir,"  said  Phil  afterwards, 
speaking  of  this  ofHcer,  "  I  remarked  that  he  grinned,  and  chat- 
ted and  showed  his  teeth  ;  and  remembering  it  was  the  nature 
of  such  baboons  to  chatter  and  grin,  had  no  idea  that  this 
chimpanzee  was  more  angry  with  me  than  with  any  other  gentle- 
man. You  see.  Pen,  I  am  a  white-skinned  man  ;  I  am  pro 
nounced  even  red-whiskered  by  the  ill-natured.  It  is  not  the 
prettiest  color.  But  I  had  no  idea  that  I  was  to  have  a  mulatto 
for  a  rival.  I  am  not  so  rich,  certainly,  but  I  have  enough.  I 
can  read  and  spell  correctly,  and  write  with  tolerable  fluency. 
I  could  not,  you  know,  could  I,  reasonably  suppose  that  I  need 
fear  competition,  and  that  the  black  horse  would  beat  the  bay 
one .''  Shall  I  tell  you  what  she  used  to  say  to  me  ?  There  is 
no  kissing  and  telling,  mind  you.  No,  by  George.  Virtue  and 
prudence  were  for  ever  on  her  lips  !  She  warbled  little  ser- 
mons to  me  ;  hinted  gently  that  I  should  see  to  safe  invest- 
ments of  my  property,  and  that  no  man,  not  even  a  father, 
should  be  the  sole  and  uncontrolled  guardian  of  it.  She  asked 
me,  sir,  scores  and  scores  of  little  sweet,  timid,  innocent  ques- 
tions about  the  doctor's  propert}-,  and  how  much  did  I  think 
it  was,  and  how  had  he  laid  it  out  ?  What  virtuous  parents 
that  angel  had  !  How  they  brought  her  ujd,  and  educated  her 
dear  blue  eyes  to  the  main  chance  !  She  knows  the  price  of 
housekeeping,  and  the  value  of  railway  shares ;  she  invests 
capital  for  herself  in  this  world  and  the  next.  She  mayn't  do 
right  always,  but  wrong  ?  O  fie,  never  !  I  say.  Pen,  an  unde- 
veloped angel  with  wings  folded  under  her  dress  ;  not  perhaps 
your  mighty,  snow-white,  flashing  pinions  that  spread  out  .and 
soar  up  to  the  highest  stars,  but  a  pair  of  good  serviceable  drab 
dove-colored  wings,  that  will  support  her  gently  and  equably 
just  over  our  heads,  and  help  to  drop  her  softly  when  she 
condescends  upon  us.  When  I  think,  sir,  that  I  might  have 
been  married  to  a  genteel  angel  and  am  single  still, — oh !  it's 
despair,  its  despair  !  " 

But  Philip's  little  story  of  disappointed  hopes  and  bootless 
passion  must  be  told  in  terms  less  acrimonious  and  unfair  than 
the  gentleman  would  use,  naturally  of  a  sanguine,  swaggering 
talk,  prone  to  exaggerate  his  own  disappointments,  and  call  out, 
roar — I  dare  say  swear — if  his  own  corn  was  trodden  upon,  as 
loudly  as  some  men  who  may  have  a  leg  taken  off. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


191 


This  I  can  vouch  for  Miss  Twysden,  Mrs.  Twysden  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  family  : — that  if  they,  what  you  call,  jilted  Philip, 
they  did  so  without  the  slightest  hesitation  or  notion  that  they 
were  doing  a  dirty  action.  Their  actions  never  were  dirty  or 
mean  •  they  were  necessary,  I  tell  you,  and  calmly  proper.  They 
ate  cheese  parings  with  graceful  silence;  they  cribbed  from  board- 
wages  ;  they  turned  hungry  servants  out  of  doors  ;  they  remitted 
no  chance  in  their  own  favor ;  they  slept  gracefully  under  scanty 
coverlids  ;  they  lighted  niggard  fires ;  they  locked  the  caddy 
with  the  closest  lock,  and  served  the  teapot  with  the  smallest 
and  least  frequent  spoon.  But  you  don't  suppose  they  thought 
they  were  mean,  or  that  they  did  wrong  ?  Ah  !  it  is  admirable 
to  think  of  many,  many,  ever  so  many  respectable  families  of 
your  acquaintance  and  mine,  my  dear  friend,  and  how  they 
meet  together  and  humbug  each  other !  "  My  dear,  I  have 
cribbed  half  an  inch  of  plush  out  of  James's  small-clothes." 
"  My  love,  I  have  saved  a  halfpenny  out  of  Marj^'s  beer.  Isn't 
it  time  to  dress  for  the  duchess's  ;  and  don't  you  think  John 
might  wear  that  livery  of  Thomas's,  who  only  had  it  a  year,  and 
died  of  the  small-pox?  It's  a  little  tight  for  him,  to  be  sure, 
but,"  &:c.  What  is  this  ?  I  profess  to  be  an  impartial  chroni- 
cler of  poor  Phil's  fortunes,  misfortunes,  friendships,  and  what- 
nots, and  am  getting  almost  as  angry  with  these  Twysdens  as 
Philip  ever  was  himself. 

Well,  I  am  not  mortally  angry  with  poor  Traviata  tramping 
the  pavement,  with  the  gas-lamp  flaring  on  her  poor  painted 
smile,  else  my  indignant  virtue  and  squeamish  modesty  would 
never  walk  Piccadilly  or  get  the  air.  But  Lais,  quite  moral,  and 
very  neatly,  primly,  and  straitly  laced  ; — Phryne,  not  the  least 
dishevelled,  but  with  a  fixature  for  her  hair,  and  the  best  stays, 
fastened  by  mamma;  —  your  High  Church  or  Evangelical 
Aspasia,  the  model  of  all  proprieties,  and  owner  of  all  virgin- 
purity  blooms,  ready  to  sell  her  cheek  to  the  oldest  old  fog)^ 
who  has  money  and  a  title ; — these  are  the  Unfortunates,  my 
dear  brother  and  sister  sinners,  whom  I  should  like  to  see 
repentant  and  specially  trounced  first.  Why,  some  of  these  are 
put  into  reformatories  in  Grosvenor  Square.  They  wear  a 
prison  dress  of  diamonds  and  Chantilly  lace.  Their  parents 
cry,  and  thank  heaven  as  they  sell  them ;  and  all  sorts  of  re« 
vered  bishops,  clergy,  relations,  dowagers,  sign  the  book,  and 
ratify  the  ceremony.  Come  !  let  us  call  a  midnight  meeting  of 
those  who  have  been  sold  in  marriage,  I  say,  and  what  a  re- 
spectable, what  a  genteel,  what  a  fashionable,  what  a  brilliant, 
what  an  imposing,  what  a  multitudinous  assembly  we  will  have  ; 
and  Where's  the  room  in  all  Babylon  big  enough  to  hold  them  ? 


192 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


Look  into  that  grave,  solemn,  dingy,  somewhat  naked,  but 
elegant  drawing-room,  in  Beaunash  Street,  and  with  a  little 
fanciful  opera-glass  you  may  see  a  pretty  little  group  or  two 
engaged  at  different  periods  of  the  day.  It  is  after  lunch,  and 
before  Rotten  Row  ride  time  (this  story,  you  know,  relates  to  a 
period  ever  so  remote,  and  long  before  folks  thought  of  riding 
in  the  Park  in  the  forenoon).  After  lunch,  and  before  Rotten 
Row  time,  saunters  into  the  drawing-room  a  fair-haired  young 
fellow  with  large  feet  and  chest,  careless  of  gloves,  with  auburn 
whiskers  blowing  over  a  loose  collar,  and — must  I  confess  it  ? 
— a  most  undeniable  odor  of  cigars  about  his  person.  He 
breaks  out  regarding  the  debate  of  the  previous  night,  or  the 
pamphlet  of  yesterday,  or  the  poem  of  the  day  previous,  or  the 
scandal  of  the  week  before,  or  upon  the  street-sweeiDcr  at  the 
corner,  or  the  Italian  and  monkey  before  the  Park — upon  what- 
ever, in  a  word,  moves  his  mind  for  the  moment.  If  Philip  has 
had  a  bad  dinner  yesterday  (and  happens  to  remember  it),  he 
growls,  grumbles,  nay,  I  dare  say,  uses  the  most  blasphemous 
language  against  the  cook,  against  the  waiters,  against  the 
steward,  against  the  committee,  against  the  whole  society  of  the 
club  where  he  has  been  dining.  If  Philip  has  met  an  organ-girl 
with  pretty  eyes  and  a  monkey  in  the  street,  he  has  grinned  and 
wondered  over  the  monkey ;  he  has  wagged  his  head,  and  sung  all 
the  organ's  tunes  ;  he  has  discovered  that  the  little  girl  is  the 
most  ravishing  beauty  eyes  ever  looked  on,  and  that  her  scoun- 
drelly Savoyard  father  is  most  likely  an  Alpine  miscreant  who 
has  bartered  away  his  child  to  a  pedlar  of  the  beggarly  cheesy 
valleys,  who  has  sold  her  to  a  friend  qui  fait  la  traite  des  hurdi- 
gurdics,  and  has  disposed  of  her  in  England.  If  he  has  to 
discourse  on  the  poem,  pamphlet,  magazine  article — it  is  written 
by  the  greatest  genius,  or  the  greatest  numskull,  that  the  world 
now  exhibits.  11^  write !  A  man  who  makes  fire  rhyme 
with  Marire  !  This  vale  of  tears  and  world  which  \\t  inhabit 
does  not  contain  such  an  idiot.  Or  have  you  seen  Dobbins's 
poem  .?  Agnes,  mark  my  words  for  it,  there  is  a  genius  in 
Dobbins  which  some  day  will  show  what  I  have  always  surmised, 
what  I  have  always  imagined  possible,  what  I  have  always  felt 
to  be  more  than  probable,  what,  by  George  !  I  feel  to  be  per- 
fectly certain,  and  any  man  is  a  humbug  who  contradicts  it,  and 
a  malignant  miscreant,  and  the  world  is  full  of  fellows  who 
will  never  give  another  man  credit;  and  I  swear  that  to  recog- 
nize and  feel  merit  in  poetry,  painting,  music,  rope-dancing, 
anything,  is  the  greatest  delighl  antl  joy  of  my  existence.  I  say 
— what  was  I  saying  ? 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  103 

**  You  were  saying,  Philip,  that  you  love  to  recognize  the 
merits  of  all  men  whom  you  see,"  says  gentle  Agnes,  "  and  I 
believe  you  do," 

"■  Yes  !  "  cries  Phil,  tossing  about  the  fair  looks.  ''  I  think 
I  do.  Thank  heaven,  I  do.  I  know  fellows  who  can  do  many 
things  better  than  I  do — everything  better  than  I  do." 

"  Oh,  Philip  !  "  sighs  the  lady. 

"  But  I  don't  hate  'em  for  it." 

"  You  never  hated  any  one,  sir.  You  are  too  brave !  Can 
you  fancy  Philip  hating  any  one,  mamma  .?  " 

'•Mamma  is  writing:  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Talbot  Twysden 
request  the  honor  of  Admiral  and  Mrs.  Davis  Locker's  com 
pany  at  dinner  on  Thursday  the  so-and-so."  "  Philip  what  ?" 
says  mamma,  looking  up  from  her  card.  "  Philip  hating  any 
one  !  Philip  eating  any  one  !  Philip  !  we  have  a  little  dinner 
on  the  24th.  We  shall  ask  your  father  to  dine.  We  must  not 
have  too  many  of  the  family.     Come  in  afterwards,  please." 

"Yes,  aunt,"  says  downright  Phil,  "I'll  come,  if  you  and 
the  girls  wish.  You  know  tea  is  not  my  line  ;  and  I  don't  care 
about  dinners,  except  in  my  own  way,  and  with " 

"  And  with  your  own  horrid  set,  sir  !" 

"  Well,"  says  Sultan  Philip,  flinging  himself  out  on  the  sofa, 
and  lording  on  the  ottoman,  "  I  like  mine  ease  and  mine  inn." 

"  Ah,  Philip  !  you  grow  more  selfish  every  day.  I  mean 
men  do,"  sighed  Agnes. 

You  will  suppose  mamma  leaves  the  room  at  this  juncture. 
She  has  that  confidence  in  dear  Philip  and  the  dear  girls,  that 
she  sometimes  does  leave  the  room  when  Agnes  and  Phil  are 
together.  She  will  leave  Reuben,  the  eldest  born,  with  her 
daughters  :  but  my  poor  dear  little  younger  son  of  a  Joseph,  if 
you  suppose  she  will  leave  the  room  and  you  alone  in  it — O  my 
dear  Joseph,  you  may  just  jump  down  the  well  at  once  !  Mam- 
ma, I  say,  has  left  the  room  at  last,  bowing  with  a  perfect 
sweetness  and  calm  grace  and  gravity  ;  and  she  has  slipped 
down  the  stairs,  scarce  more  noisy  than  the  shadow  that  slants 
over  the  faded  carpet  (oh  !  the  faded  shadow,  the  faded  sun- 
shine !) — mamma  is  gone,  I  say,  to  the  lower  regions,  and  with 
perfect  good  breeding  is  torturing  the  butler  on  his  bottle-rack 
— is  squeezing  the  housekeeper  in  her  jam-closet — is  watching 
the  three  cold  cutlets  shuddering  in  the  larder  behind  the  wires 
— is  blandly  glancing  at  the  kitchen-maid  until  the  poor  wench 
fancies  the  piece  of  bacon  is  discovered  which  she  gave  to  the 
crossing-sweeper — and  calmly  penetrating  John  until  he  feels 
sure  his  inmost  heart  is  revealed  to  her,  as  it   throbs  within  his 


1^4  ^-^^-^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

worsted-laced  waistcoat,  and  she  knows  about  that  pawning  ol 
master's  old  boots,  (beastly  old  highlows  !)  and — and,  in  fact^ 
all  tiie  most  intimate  circumstances  of  his  existence.  A  wretched 
maid,  who  has  been  ironing  collars,  or  what  not,  gives  her 
mistress  a  shuddering  curtsey,  and  slinks  away  with  her  laces ; 
and  meanwhile  our  girl  and  boy  are  prattling  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

About  what  ?  About  everything  on  which  Philip  chooses 
to  talk.  There  is  nobody  to  contradict  him  but  himself,  and 
then  his  pretty  hearer  vows  and  declares  he  has  not  been  so 
very  contradictory.  He  spouts  his  favorite  poems,  "  Delight- 
ful !  Do,  Philip,  read  us  some  Waiter  Scott !  He  is,  as  you 
say,  the  most  fresh,  the  most  manly,  the  most  kindly  of  poetic 
writers — not  of  the  first  class,  certainly.  In  fact,  he  has  written 
most  dreadful  bosh,  as  you  call  it  so  drolly ;  and  so  has 
Wordsworth,  though  he  is  one  of  the  greatest  of  men,  and  has 
reached  sometimes  to  the  very  greatest  height  and  sublimity  o( 
poetry  ;  but  now  you  put  it,  1  must  confess  he  is  often  an  old 
bore,  and  I  certainly  should  have  gone  to  sleep  during  the 
*  Excursion,'  only  you  read  it  so  nicely.  You  don't  think  the 
new  composers  as  good  as  the  old  ones,  and  love  mamma's 
old-fashioned  playing.?  Well,  Philip,  it  is  delightful,  so  lady- 
like, so  feminine  !  "  Or,  perhaps,  Philip  has  just  come  from 
Hyde  Park,  and  says,  "  As  I  passed  by  Apsley  House,  I  saw 
the  Duke  come  out,  with  his  old  blue  frock  and  white  trousers 
and  clear  face.  I  have  seen  a  picture  of  him  in  an  old  European 
Magazine,  which  1  think  I  like  better  than  all — gives  me  the 
idea  of  one  of  the  brightest  men  in  the  world.  The  brave  eyes 
gleam  at  you  out  of  the  picture  ;  and  there's  a  smile  on  the 
resolute  lips,  which  seems  to  ensure  triumph.  Agnes,  Assaye 
must  have  been  glorious  !  " 

"  Glorious,  Philip  !  "  says  Agnes,  who  had  never  heard  of 
Assaye  before  in  her  life.  Arbela,  perhaps  ;  Salamis,  Marathon, 
Agincourt,  Blenheim,  Busaco  —  where  dear  grandpapa  was 
killed — Waterloo,  Armageddon  ;  but  Assaye  "i  Quevoulez  vous  ? 

"  Think  of  that  ordinarily  prudent  man,  and  how  greatly  he 
knew  how  to  dare  when  occasion  came !  I  should  like  to  have 
died  after  winning  such  a  game.  He  has  never  done  anything 
so  exciting  since." 

'•  A  game  ?  I  thought  it  was  a  battle  just  now,"  murmurs 
Agnes  in  her  mind  ;  but  there  may  be  some  misunderstanding. 
"  Ah,  Philip,"  she  says,  "  I  fear  excitement  is  too  much  the  life 
of  all  young  men  now    When  will  you  be  quiet  and  steady,  sir?  " 

"  And  go  to  an  office  every  day,  like  my  uncle  and  cousin ; 


ON  niS  WAY  TIIROUCII  THE  WORLD.  195 

and  read  the  newspaper  for  three  hours,  and  trot  back  and 
see  you." 

"  Well,  sir !  that  ought  not  to  be  such  very  bad  amusement," 
says  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  What  a  clumsy  wretch  I  am !  my  foot  is  always  trampling 
on  something  or  somebody  1 "  groans  Philip. 

"  You  must  come  to  us,  and  we  will  teach  you  to  dance, 
Bruin !  "  says  gentle  Agnes,  smiling  on  him.  I  think  when 
very  much  agitated,  her  pulse  must  have  gone  up  to  forty. 
Her  blood  must  have  been  a  light  pink.  The  heart  that  beat 
under  that  pretty  white  chest,  which  she  exposed  so  liberally, 
may  have  throbbed  pretty  quickly  once  or  twice  with  waltziui,, 
but  otherwise  never  rose  or  fell  beyond  its  natural  gentle 
undulation.  It  may  have  had  throbs  of  grief  at  a  disappoint- 
ment occasioned  by  the  milliner  not  bringing  a  dress  home  ;  or 
have  felt  some  little  fluttering  impulse  of  youthful  passion  when 
it  was  in  short  frocks,  and  Master  Grimsby  at  the  dancing- 
school  showed  some  preference  for  another  young  pupil  out  of 
the  nursery.  But  feelings,  and  hopes,  and  blushes,  and  passions 
now .?  Psha !  They  pass  away  like  nursery  dreams.  Now 
there  are  only  proprieties.  What  is  love,  young  heart  ?  It  is 
two  thousand  a  year,  at  the  very  lowest  computation  ;  and, 
with  the  present  rise  in  wages  and  house-rent,  that  calculation 
can't  last  very  long.  Love  ?  Attachment  ?  Look  at  Frank 
Maythorn,  with  his  vernal  blushes,  his  leafy  whiskers,  his  sun- 
shiny, laughing  face,  and  all  the  birds  of  spring  carolling  in  his 
jolly  voice  ;  and  old  General  Pinwood  hobbling  in  on  his  cork 
leg,  with  his  stars  and  orders,  and  leering  round  the  room  from 
under  his  painted  eyebrows.  Will  my  modest  nymph  go  to 
Maythorn,  or  10  yonder  leering  Satyr,  who  totters  towards  her 
in  his  white  and  rouge  ?  Nonsense.  She  gives  her  garland  to 
the  old  man,  to  be  sure.  He  is  ten  times  as  rich  as  the  young 
one.  And  so  they  went  on  in  Arcadia  itself,  really.  Not  in 
that  namby-pamby  ballet  and  idyll  world,  where  they  tripped  up 
to  each  other  in  rhythm,  and  talked  hexameters  ;  but  in  the 
real  downright,  no-mistake  countr)^ — Arcadia — where  Tityrus, 
fluting  to  Amaryllis  in  the  shade,  had  his  pipe  very  soon  put 
out  when  Meliboeus  (the  great  grazier)  performed  on  his 
melodious,  exquisite,  irresistible  cowhorn  ;  and  where  Daphne's 
mother  dressed  her  up  with  ribbons  and  drove  her  to  market, 
and  sold  her,  and  swapped  her,  and  bartered  her  like  any  other 
lamb  in  the  fair.  This  one  has  been  trotted  to  the  market  so 
long  now  that  she  knows  the  way  herself.  Her  baa  has  been 
heard  for — do  not  let  us  count  how  many  seasons.     She  has 


IqS  the  adventures  of  PHILIP 

nibbled  out  of  countless  hands ;  frisked  in  many  thousand 
dances ;  come  quite  harmless  away  from  goodness  knows  how 
many  wolves.  Ah  !  ye  lambs  and  raddled  innocents  of  our 
Arcadia  !  Ah,  old  Ewe  !  Is  it  of  your  ladyship  this  fable  is 
narrated  ?  I  say  it  is  as  old  as  Cadmus,  and  man-  and  mutton- 
kind. 

"  So,  when  Philip  comes  to  Beaunash  Street,  Agnes  listens 
to  him  most  kindly,  sweetly,  gently,  and  affectionately.  Her 
pulse  goes  up  very  nearly  half  a  beat  when  the  echo  of  his 
horse's  heels  is  heard  in  the  quiet  street.  It  undergoes  a  cor- 
responding depression  when  the  daily  grief  of  parting  is  encoun- 
tered and  overcome.  Blanche  and  Agnes  don't  love  each  other 
very  passionately.  If  I  may  say  as  much  regarding  those  two 
lambkins,  they  butt  at  each  other — they  quarrel  with  each  other 
• — but  they  have  secret  understandings.  During  Phil's  visits 
the  girls  remain  together,  you  understand,  or  mamma  is  with 
the  young  people.  Female  friends  may  come  in  to  call  on  Mrs, 
Twysden,  and  the  matrons  whisper  together,  and  glance  at  the 
cousins,  and  look  knowing.  "  Poor  orphan  boy  !  "  mamma 
says  to  a  sister  matron.  "  I  am  like  a  mother  to  him  since  my 
dear  sister  died.  His  own  home  is  so  blank,  and  ours  so 
merry,  so  affectionate  !  There  may  be  intimacy,  tender  regard, 
the  utmost  confidence  between  cousins — there  may  be  future 
and  even  closer  ties  between  them — but  you  understand,  dear 
Mrs,  Matcham,  no  engagement  between  them.  He  is  eager, 
hot-headed,  impetuous,  and  imprudent,  as  we  all  know.  She 
has  not  seen  the  world  enough — is  not  sure  of  herself,  poor 
dear  child  !  Therefore  every  circumspection,  every  caution  is 
necessary.  There  must  be  no  engagement,  no  letters  between 
them.  My  darling  Agnes  does  not  write  to  ask  him  to  dinner 
without  showing  the  note  to  me  or  her  father.  My  dearest  girls 
respect  themselves."  "Of  course,  my  dear  Mrs.  Twysden, 
they  are  admirable,  both  of  them.  Bless  you,  darlings  !  Agnes, 
you  look  radiant !  Ah,  Rosa,  my  child,  I  wish  you  had  dear 
Blanche's  complexion  !  " 

"And  isn't  it  monstrous  keeping  that  poor  boy  hanging  on 
until  Mr.  Woolcomb  has  made  up  his  mind  about  coming  for- 
ward .■* "  says  dear  Mrs.  Matcham  to  her  own  daughter,  as  her 
brougham  door  closes  on  the  pair.  "  Here  he  comes  !  Here 
is  ills  cab,  IMaria  Twysden  is  one  of  the  smartest  women  in 
England — that  she  is." 

"  How  odd  it  is,  mamma,  that  the  beau  cousin  and  Captain 
Woolcomb  are  always  calling,  and  never  call  together  1  "  re- 
marks the  ingenue. 


ON  HIS  WAY  rriROUGIT  THE  WORLD.  197 

"They  might  quarrel  if  they  met.  They  say  young  Mr. 
Finnin  is  very  quarrelsome  and  impetuous  !  "  says  mamma, 

"  But  how  are  they  kept  apart  ?  " 

"  Chance,  my  clear  !  mere  chance  1 "  says  mamma.  And 
they  agree  to  say  it  is  chance — and  they  agree  to  pretend  to 
believe  one  another.  And  the  girl  and  the  mother  know  every- 
thing about  Woolcomb's  property,  everything  about  Philip's 
property  and  expectations,  everj'thing  about  all  the  young  men 
in  London,  and  those  coming  on.  And  Mrs.  Matcham's  girl 
fished  for  Captain  Woolcomb  last  year  in  Scotland,  at  Loch- 
hookey  ;  and  stalked  him  to  Paris  ;  and  they  went  down  on 
their  knees  to  Lady  Banbury  when  they  heard  of  the  theatricals 
at  the  Cross  ;  and  pursued  that  man  about  until  he  is  forced  to 
say,  "  Confound  me  !  hang  me  !  it's  too  bad  of  that  woman  and 
her  daughter,  it  is  now,  I  give  you  my  honor  it  is  !  And  all  the 
fellows  chaff  me  !  And  she  took  a  house  in  Regent's  Park, 
opposite  our  barracks,  and  asked  for  her  daughter  to  learn  to 
ride  in  our  school — I'm  blest  if  she  didn't,  Mrs.  Twysden !  and 
I  thought  my  black  mare  would  have  kicked  her  off  one  day — 
I  mean  the  daughter — but  she  stuck  on  like  grim  death ;  and 
the  fellows  call  them  Mrs.  Grini  Death  and  her  daughter.  Our 
surgeon  called  them  so,  and  a  doosid  rum  fellow — and  they 
chaff  me  about  it,  you  know — ever  so  many  of  the  fellows  do — ' 
and  7'w  not  going  to  be  had  in  that  way  by  Mrs.  Grim  Death 
and  her  daughter  !     No,  not  as  I  knows,  if  you  please  !  " 

"  You  are  a  dreadful  man,  and  you  gave  her  a  dreadful 
name.  Captain  Woolcomb  !  "  says  mamma. 

"  It  wasn't  me.  It  was  the  surgeon,  you  know,  Aliss  Agnes  : 
a  doosid  funny  and  witty  fellow,  Nixon  is — and  sent  a  thing 
once  to  Punch,  Nixon  did.  I  heard  him  make  the  riddle  in 
Albany  Barracks  and  it  riled  Foker  so  !  You've  no  idea  how 
it  riled  Foker,  for  he's  in  it !  " 

"  In  it  "i  "  asks  Agnes,  with  the  gentle  smile,  the  candid  blue 
eyes — the  same  eyes,  expression,  lips,  that  smile  and  sparkle  at 
Philip. 

"  Here  it  is  !  Capital !  Took  it  down.  Wrete  it  into  my 
pocket-book  at  once  as  Nixon  made  it.  '  All  doctors  likemyfrsf, 
thafs  clear !'  Doctor  Firmin  does  that.  Old  Parr  Street 
party  !     Don't  you  see,  Miss  Agnes  ?     Fee  !    Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Fee  !  Oh,  you  droll  thing!  "  cries  Agnes,  smiling,  radiant, 
very  much  puzzled. 

"  '  My  second,'  "  goes  on  the  young  officer — "  *  Afy  secotut 
^vei  us  Foker' s  beer  /^  " 

"  '  My  whole's  the  shortest  month  in  all  the  year  I '     Don't 


I^g  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rilJLiP 

you  see,  Mrs.  Twysclen?  Fee-Brewery,  don't  you  see? 
February  !  A  doosid  good  one,  isn't  it  now  ?  and  I  wonder 
Punch  never  put  it  in.  And  upon  my  word,  1  used  to  spell  it 
Febuary  before,  I  did  ;  and  I  dare  say  ever  so  many  fellows  do 
still.  And  I  know  the  right  way  now,  and  all  from  that  riddle 
which  Nixon  made." 

The  ladies  declare  he  is  a  droll  man,  and  full  of  fun.  He 
rattles  on,  artlessly  telling  his  little  stories  of  sport,  drink,  ad- 
venture, in  which  the  dusky  little  man  himself  is  a  prominent 
figure.  Not  honey-mouthed  Plato  would  be  listened  to  more 
kindly  by  those  three  ladies.  A  blank,  frank  smile  shines  over 
Talbot  Twysden's  noble  face,  as  he  comes  in  from  his  office, 
and  finds  the  creole  prattling.  "  What !  you  here,  Woolcomb  ? 
Hay  !  Glad  to  see  you  !  "  And  the  gallant  hand  goes  out  and 
meets  and  grasps  Woolcomb's  tiny  kid  glove. 

"  He  has  been  so  amusing,  papa  !  He  has  been  making  us 
die  with  laughing  !  Tell  papa  that  riddle  you  made,  Captain 
Woolcomb  ? " 

"  That  riddle  I  made  .?  That  riddle  Nixon,  our  surgeon, 
made.     'All  doctors  like  my  first,  that's  clear,'  "  &:c. 

And  da  capo.  And  the  family,  as  he  expounds  this  admira- 
ble rebus,  gather  round  the  young  officer  in  a  group,  and  the 
curtain  drops. 

As  in  a  theatre  booth  at  a  fair  there  are  two  or  three  per- 
formances in  a  day,  so  in  Beaunash  Street  a  kittle  genteel  com- 
edy is  played  twice : — at  four  o'clock  with  Mr.  Firmin,  at  five 
o'clock  with  Mr.  Woolcomb  ;  and  for  both  young  gentlemen, 
same  smiles,  same  eyes,  same  voice,  same  welcome.  Ah,  bra\'o  ! 
ah,  encore  1 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN  WHICH  WK  VISIT  "admiral  ryng. 

From  long  residence  in  Bohemia,  and  fatal  love  of  bacheloi 
ease  and  habits,  Master  Philip's  pure  tastes  were  so  destroyed, 
and  his  manners  so  perverted  that,  you  will  hardly  believe  it, 
he  was  actually  indifferent  to  the  pleasures  of  the  refined  home 
we  have  just  been  describing  ;  and,  when  Agnes  was  away, 
sometimes  even  when  she  was  at  home,  was  quite  relieved  to 
get  out  of  Beaunash  Street.     He  is  hardly  twenty  yards  from 


ON  ins  WAY  TTFROUGH  THE  WORLD.  199 

the  door,  when  out  of  his  pocket  there  comes  a  case  ;  out  of  the 
case  there  jumps  an  aromatic  cigar,  which  is  scattering 
fragrance  around  as  he  is  marching  briskly  northwards  to  his 
next  house  of  call.  The  pace  is  even  more  lively  now  than 
when  he  is  hastening  on  what  you  call  the  wings  of  love  to 
Beaunash  Street.  At  the  house  whither  he  is  now  going,  he 
and  the  cigar  are  always  welcome.  There  is  no  need  of 
munching  orange  chips,  or  chewing  scented  pills,  or  flinging 
your  weed  away  half  a  mile  before  you  reach  Thornhaugh 
Street — the  low,  vulgar  place.  I  promise  you  Phil  may  smoke 
at  Brandon's,  and  find  others  doing  the  same.  He  may  set  the 
house  on  fire,  if  so  minded,  such  a  favorite  is  he  there;  and  the 
Little  Sister,  with  her  kind,  beaming  smile,  will  be  there  to  bid 
him  welcome.  How  that  woman  loved  Phil,  and  how  he  loved 
her,  is  quite  a  curiosity  ;  and  both  of  them  used  to  be  twitted 
with  this  attachment  by  their  mutual  friends,  and  blush  as  they 
acknowledged  it.  Ever  since  the  little  nurse  had  saved  his  life 
as  a  schoolboy,  it  was  a  la  vie  a  la  mart  between  them.  Phil's 
father's  chariot  used  to  come  to  Thornhaugh  Street  sometimes 
—  at  rare  times  —  and  the  doctor  descend  thence  and  have 
colloquies  with  the  Little  Sister.  She  attended  a  patient  or 
two  of  his.  She  was  certainly  very  much  better  off  in  her 
money  matters  in  these  late  years,  since  she  had  known  Dr. 
Firmin.  Do  you  think  she  took  money  from  him  ? "  As  a 
novelist,  who  knows  everything  about  his  people,  I  am  con- 
strained to  say.  Yes.  She  took  enough  to  pay  some  little  bills 
of  her  weak-minded  old  father,  and  send  the  bailiff's  hand  from 
his  old  collar.  But  no  more.  "  I  think  you  owe  him  as  much 
as  that,"  she  said  to  the  doctor.  But  as  for  compliments 
between  them — "  Dr.  Firmin,  I  would  die  rather  than  be 
beholden  to  you  for  anything,"  she  said,  with  her  little  limbs 
all  in  a  tremor,  and  her  eyes  flashing  anger.  "  How  dare  you, 
sir,  after  old  days,  be  a  coward  and  pay  compliments  to  me  ;  I 
will  tell  your  son  of  you,  sir  !  "  and  the  little  woman  looked  as 
if  she  could  have  stabbed  the  elderly  libertine  there  as  he  stood. 
And  he  shrugged  his  handsome  shoulders  :  blushed  a  little  too, 
perhaps  :  gave  her  one  of  his  darkling  looks,  and  departed. 
She  had  believed  him  once.  She  had  married  him,  as  she 
fancied.  He  had  tired  of  her  ;  forsaken  her  ;  left  her — left  her 
even  without  a  name.  She  had  not  known  his  for  long  years 
after  her  trust  and  his  deceit.  "  No,  sir,  I  wouldn't  have  your 
name  now,  not  if  it  were  a  lord's,  I  wouldn't,  and  a  coronet  on 
your  carriage.  You  are  beneath  me  now,  Mr.  Brand  Firmin  !  " 
she  had  said. 


200  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  FHILIP 

How  came  she  to  love  the  boy  so  ?  Years  back,  in  her  own 
horrible  extremity  of  misery,  she  could  remember  a  week  or 
two  cf  a  brief,  strange,  exquisite  happiness,  which  came  to  her 
in  the  midst  of  her  degradation  and  desertion,  and  for  a  few 
days  a  baby  in  her  arms,  with  eyes  like  Philip's.  It  was  taken 
from  her,  after  a  few  days — only  sixteen  days.  Insanity  came 
upon  her,  as  her  dead  infant  was  carried  away  : — insanity,  and 
fever,  and  struggle — ah  !  who  knows  how  dreadful .''  She  never 
does.  There  is  a  gap  in  her  life  which  she  never  can  recall 
quite.  But  George  Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  knows  how  veiy 
frequent  are  such  cases  of  mania,  and  that  women  who  don't 
speak  about  them  often  will  cherish  them  for  years  after  they 
appear  to  have  passed  away.  The  Little  Sister  says,  quite 
gravely,  sometimes,  "  They  are  allowed  to  come  back.  They 
do  come  back.  Else  what's  the  good  of  little  cherubs  bein' 
born,  cand  smilin',  and  happy,  and  beautiful — say,  for  sixteen 
days,  and  then  an  end  .''  I've  talked  about  it  to  many  ladies  in 
grief  sim'lar  to  mine  was,  and  it  comforts  them.  And  when  I 
saw  that  child  on  his  sick-bed,  and  he  lifted  his  eyes,  /  knew 
hit/i,  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Ridley.  I  don't  speak  about  it ;  but  I 
knew  him,  ma'am  ;  my  angel  came  back  again.  I  know  him 
by  the  eyes.  Look  at  'em.  Did  you  ever  see  such  eyes .-" 
They  look  as  if  they  had  seen  heaven.  His  fathers  don't." 
Mrs.  Ridley  believes  this  theory  solemnly,  and  I  think  I  know 
a  lady,  nearly  connected  with  myself,  who  can't  be  got  quite  to 
disown  it.  And  this  secret  opinion  to  women  in  grief  and 
sorrow  over  their  new-born  lost  infants  Mrs.  Brandon  persists 
in  imparting.  "  /  know  a  case,"  the  nurse  murmurs,  "  of  a 
poor  mother  who  lost  her  child  at  sixteen  days  old  ;  and 
sixteen  years  after,  on  the  very  day,  she  saw  him  again." 

Philip  knows  so  far  of  the  Little  Sister's  story,  that  he  is 
the  object  of  this  delusion,  and,  indeed,  it  very  strangely  and 
tenderly  affects  him.  He  remembers  fitfully  the  illness  through 
which  the  Little  Sister  tended  him,  the  wild  paroxysms  of  his 
fever,  his  head  throbbing  on  her  shoulders — cool  tamarind 
drinks  which  she  applied  to  his  lips — great  gusty  night  shadows 
flickering  through  the  bare  school  dormitory — the  little  figure 
of  the  nurse  gliding  in  and  out  of  the  dark.  He  must  be  aware 
of  the  recognition,  which  we  know  of,  and  which  took  place  at 
his  bedside,  though  he  has  never  mentioned  it — not  to  his 
father,  not  to  Caroline.  But  he  clings  to  the  woman,  and 
shrinks  from  the  man.  Is  it  instinctive  love  and  antipathy .? 
The  special  reason  for  his  quarrel  with  his  father  the  junior 
Firmin  has  never  explicitly  told  me  then  or  since.     I  have 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  20I 

known  sons  much  more  confidential,  and  who,  when  their 
fathers  tripped  and  stumbled,  would  bring  their  acquaintances 
to  jeer  at  the  patriarch  in  his  fall. 

One  day,  as  Philip  enters  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  the 
Sister's  little  parlor  there,  fancy  his  astonishment  on  finding  his 
father's  dingy  friend,  the  Rev.  Tufton  Hunt,  at  his  ease  by  the 
fireside.  "  Surprised  to  see  vie  here,  eh  ? "  says  the  dingy 
gentleman,  with  a  sneer  at  Philip's  lordly  face  ol  wonder  and 
disgust.    "  Mrs.  Brandon  and  I  turn  out  to  be  very  old  friends." 

"Yes,  sir,  old  acquaintances,"  says  the  Little  Sister,  very 
gravely. 

"  The  Captain  brought  me  home  from  the  club  at  the 
*  Byng.'  Jolly  fellows  the  Byngs.  My  service  to  you,  Mr. 
Gann  and  Mrs.  Brandon."  And  the  two  persons  addressed  by 
the  gentleman,  who  is  "taking  some  refreshment,"  as  the 
phrase  is,  made  a  bow  in  acknowledgment  of  this  salutation. 

"  You  should  have  been  at  Mr.  Philip's  call-supper.  Cap- 
tain Gann,"  the  divine  resumes.  "  That  zvas  a  night !  Tip- 
top swells — noblemen — first-rate  claret.  That  claret  of  your 
father's,  Philip,  is  pretty  nearly  drunk  down.  And  your  song 
was  famous.     Did  you  ever  hear  him  sing,  Mrs.  Brandon  ?" 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  him  ?  "  says  Philip,  who  always 
boiled  with  rage  before  this  man. 

Caroline  divines  the  antipathy.  She  lays  a  little  hand  on 
Philip's  arm.  "  Mr.  Hunt  has  been  having  too  much,  I  think," 
she  says.     "  I  did  know  him  ever  so  long  ago,  Philip  !  " 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  Him  ?  "  again  says  Philip,  snort- 
ing at  Tufton  Hunt. 

"  Him  ? — Dr.  Luther's  Hymn  !  '  Wein,  Weber,  und  Gesang,' 
to  be  sure  !  "  cries  the  clergyman,  humming  the  tune.  "  I 
learned  it  in  Germany  myself — passed  a  good  deal  of  time  in 
Germany,  Captain  Gann — six  months  in  a  specially  shady 
place — Quod  Strasse,  in  Frankfort-on-the-Maine — being  perse- 
cuted by  some  wicked  Jews  there.  And  there  was  another 
poor  English  chap  in  the  place,  too,  who  used  to  chirp  that 
song  behind  the  bars,  and  died  there,  and  disappointed  the 
Philistines.  I've  seen  a  deal  of  life,  I  have  ;  and  met  with  a 
precious  deal  of  misfortune  ;  and  borne  it  pretty  stoutly,  too, 
since  your  father  and  I  were  at  college  together,  Philip.  You 
don't  do  anything  in  this  way  ?  Not  so  early,  eh  ?  It's  good 
rum,  Gann,  and  no  mistake."  And  again  the  chaplain  drinks 
to  the  Captain,  who  waves  the  dingy  hand  of  hospitality  towards 
his  dark  guest. 

For  several  months  past  Hunt  had  now  been  a  resident  in 


202  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

London,  and  a  pretty  constant  visitor  at  Dr.  Firmin's  house 
He  came  and  went  at  his  will.  He  made  the  place  his  house 
of  call ;  and  in  the  doctor's  trim,  silent,  orderly  mansion,  was 
perfectly  free,  talkative,  dirty,  and  familiar.  Philip's  loathing 
for  the  man  increased  till  it  reached  a  pitch  of  frantic  hatred. 
Mr.  Phil,  theoretically  a  Radical,  and  almost  a  Republican  (in 
opposition,  perhaps,  to  his  father,  who,  of  course,  held  the 
highly  respectable  line  of  politics) — Mr.  Sansculotte  Phil  was 
personally  one  of  the  most  aristocratic  and  overbearing  of  young 
gentlemen  ;  and  had  a  contempt  and  hatred  for  mean  people, 
for  base  people,  for  servile  people,  and  especially  for  too 
familiar  people,  which  was  not  a  little  amusing  sometimes, 
which  was  provoking  often,  but  which  he  never  was  at  the  least 
pains  of  disguising.  His  uncle  and  cousin  Twysden,  for  ex- 
ample, he  treated  not  half  so  civilly  as  their  footmen.  Little 
Talbot  humbled  himself  before  Phil,  and  felt  not  always  easy 
in  his  company.  Young  Twysden  hated  him,  and  did  not  dis- 
guise his  sentiments  at  the  club,  or  to  their  mutual  acquaint- 
ance behind  Phil's  broad  back.  And  Phil,  for  his  part,  adopted 
towards  his  cousin  a  kick-me-down-stairs  manner,  which  I  own 
must  have  been  provoking  to  that  gentleman,  who  was  Phil's 
senior  by  three  years,  a  clerk  in  a  public  office,  a  member  of 
several  good  clubs,  and  altogether  a  genteel  member  of  society. 
Phil  would  often  forget  Ringwood  Twysden's  presence,  and 
pursue  his  own  conversation  entirely  regardless  of  Ringwood's 
observations.  He  ^vas  very  rude,  I  own.  Que  voulez-vous  ? 
We  have  all  of  us  our  little  failings,  and  one  of  Philip's  was  an 
ignorant  impatience  of  bores,  parasites,  and  pretenders. 

So  no  wonder  my  young  gentleman  was  not  very  fond  of  his 
father's  friend,  the  dingy  jail  chaplain.  I,  who  am  the  n\ost 
tolerant  man  in  the  world,  as  all  my  friends  know,  liked  Hunt 
little  better  than  Phil  did.  The  man's  presence  made  me  un- 
easy. Plis  dress,  his  complexion,  liis  teeth,  his  leer  at  women — 
Qite  sfais-Je  ? — everything  was  unpleasant  about  this  Mr.  Hunt, 
and  his  gayety  and  familiarity  more  specially  disgusting  than 
even  his  hostility.  The  wonder  was  that  battle  had  not  taken 
place  between  Philip  and  the  jail  clergyman,  who,  I  suppose,- 
was  accustomed  to  be  disliked,  and  laughed  with  cynical  good 
humor  at  the  other's  disgust. 

Hunt  was  a  visitor  of  many  tavern  parlors  ;  and  one  day, 
strolling  out  of  the  "Admiral  liyng,"  he  saw  his  friend  Dr. 
Firmin's  well-known  equipage  stopping  at  a  door  inThornhaugh 
Street,  out  of  which  the  doctor  presently  came ;  "  pjrandon  " 
was  on  the  door.     Brandon,  Brandon  ?     Hunt  remembered  a 


ON  HIS  WA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


203 


dark  transaction  of  more  than  twenty  years  ago — of  a  woman 
deceived  by  this  Firmin,  who  then  chose  to  go  by  the  name  of 
Brandon.  "  He  lives  with  her  still,  the  old  hypocrite,  or  he 
has  gone  back  to  her,"  thought  the  parson.  Oh,  you  old  sin- 
ner !  And  the  next  time  he  called  in  Old  Parr  Street  on  his 
dear  old  college  friend,  Mr.  Hunt  was  specially  jocular,  and 
frightfully  unpleasant  and  familiar. 

"Saw  your  trap  Tottenham  Court  Road  way,"  says  the 
slang  parson,  nodding  to  the  physician. 

"  Have  some  patients  there.  People  are  ill  in  Tottenham 
Court  Road,"  remarks  the  doctor. 

"  Pallida  mors  cequo pede — hay,  doctor  .-•  What  used  Flaccus 
to  say,  when  we  were  undergrads  ?  " 

'■'•  yEquo  pede,"  sighs  the  doctor,  casting  up  his  fine  eyes  to 
the  ceiling. 

"  Sly  old  fox  !  Not  a  word  will  he  say  about  her  !  "  thinks 
the  clergyman.  "Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  And,  by  Jove  !  Gann 
was  the  name." 

Gann  was  also  the  name  of  that  queer  old  man  w-ho  fre- 
quented the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  where  the  ale  was-  so  good — 
the  old  boy  whom  they  called  the  Captain.  Yes  ;  it  was  clear 
now.  That  ugly  business  was  patched  up.  The  astute  Hunt 
saw  it  all.  The  doctor  still  kept  up  a  connection  with  the — 
the  party.  And  that  is  her  old  father,  sure  enough.  "  The 
old  fox,  the  old  fox  !  I've  earthed  him,  have  I  ?  This  is  a  good 
game.  I  w-anted  a  little  something  to  do,  and  this  will  excite 
me,"  thinks  the  clergyman. 

I  am  describing  what  I  never  could  have  seen  or  heard, 
and  can  guarantee  only  verisimilitude,  not  truth,  in  my  report 
of  the  private  conversation  of  these  worthies.  The  end  of 
scores  and  scores  of  Hunt's  conversations  with  his  friend  was 
the  same — an  application  for  money.  If  it  rained  when  Hunt 
parted  from  his  college  chum,  it  was,  "  I  say,  doctor,  I  shall 
spoil  my  new  hat,  and  I'm  blest  if  I  have  any  money  to  take  a 
cab.  Thank  you,  old  boy.  .  Au  revoir."  If  the  day  was  fine, 
it  was,  "  My  old  blacks  show  the  white  seams  so,  that  you 
must  out  of  your  charity  rig  me  out  with  a  new  pair.  Not3"our 
tailor.  He  is  too  expensive.  Thank  you — a  couple  of  sover- 
eigns will  do."  And  the  doctor  takes  two  from  the  mantel- 
piece, and  the  divine  retires,  jingling  the  gold  in  his  greasy 
pocket. 

The  doctor  is  going  after  the  few  words  about  pallida  mors, 
and  has  taken  up  that  well-brushed  broad  hat,  with  that  ever- 
fresh  lining,  which  we  all  admire  in  him — "  Oh,  I  say,  Firmin  1  " 


204  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP. 

breaks  out  the  clergyman.  "  Before  you  go  out,  you  must 
lend  me  a  few  sovs,  please.  They've  cleaned  me  out  in  Air 
Street.  That  confounded  roulette!  It's  a  madness  with  me. 
"By  George!"  cries  the  other,  with  a  strong  execration, 
"  you  are  too  bad,  Hunt.  Every  week  of  my  life  you  come 
to  me  for  money.  You  have  had  plenty.  Go  elsewhere.  I 
won't  give  it  you." 

"  Yes,  you  will,  old  boy,"  says  the  other,  looking  at  him  a 
terrible  look  ;"  for " 

"  For  what  ?  "  says  the  doctor,  the  veins  of  his  tall  forehead 
growing  very  full. 

"  For  old  times'  sake,"  says  the  clergyman.  "  There's 
seven  of  'em  on  the  table  in  bits  of  paper — that'll  do  nicely. 
And  he  sweeps  the  fees  with  a  dirty  hand  into  a  dirty  poucli. 
*'  Halloa  I  Swearin'  and  cursin'  before  a  clergyman.  Don't 
cut  up  rough,  old  fellow  !  Go  and  take  the  air.  It'll  cool 
you." 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  like  that  fellow  to  attend  me,  if  I 
was  sick,"  says  Hunt,  shuffling  away,  rolling  the  plunder  in  his 
greasy  hand.  "  I  don't  think  I'd  like  to  meet  him  by  moon- 
light alone,  in  a  very  quiet  lane.  He's  a  determined  chap. 
And  his  eyes  mean  viiching  malecho,  his  eyes  do.  Phew  ! " 
And  he  laughs,  and  makes  a  rude  observation  about  Dr. 
Firmin's  eyes. 

That  afternoon,  the  gents  who  used  the  "  Admiral  Byng  " 
remarked  the  reappearance  of  the  party  who  looked  in  last 
evening,  and  who  now  stood  glasses  round,  and  made  himself 
u!icommon  agreeable  to  be  sure.  Old  Mr.  Ridley  says  he  is 
quite  the  gentleman.  "  Hevident  have  been  in  foring  parts  a 
great  deal,  and  speaks  the  languages,  Probbly  have  'ad  mis- 
fortunes, which  many  'ave  'ad  them.  Drinks  rum-and-water 
tremenjous.  'Ave  scarce  no  heppytite.  Many  get  into  this 
way  from  misfortunes.  A  plesn  man,  most  well  informed  on 
almost  every  subjeck.  Think  he's  a  clergyman. '  He  and  Mr. 
Gann  have  made  quite  a  friendship  together,  he  and  INIr.  Gann 
'ave.  Which  they  talked  of  Watloo,  and  Gann  is  very  fond  of 
that,  Gann  is,  most  certny."  I  imagine  Ridley  delivering  these 
sentences,  and  alternate  little  volleys  of  smoke,  as  he  sits  be- 
hind his  sober  calumet  and  prattles  in  the  tavern  parlor. 

After  Dr.  Firmin  has  careered  through  the  town,  standing 
by  sick-beds  with  his  sweet  sad  smile,  fondled  and  blessed  by 
tender  mothers  who  hail  him  as  the  saviour  of  their  children, 
touching  ladies'  pulses  with  a  hand  as  delicate  as  their  own, 
patting  little  fresh  cheeks  with  courtly  kindness — little  cheeks 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


^05 


that  owe  their  roses  to  his  marvellous  skill ;  after  he  has 
soothed  and  comforted  my  lady,  shaken  hands  with  my  lord, 
looked  in  at  the  clubs,  and  exchanged  courtly  salutations  with 
brother  bigwigs,  and  driven  away  in  the  handsome  carriage 
with  the  noble  horses — admired,  respecting,  respectful,  saluted, 
saluting — so  that  every  man  says,  "  Excellent  man,  Firmin. 
Excellent  doctor,  excellent  man.  Safe  man.  Sound  man. 
Man  of  good  family.  Married  a  rich  wife.  Lucky  man."  And 
so  on.  After  the  day's  triumphant  career,  I  fancy  I  see  the 
doctor  driving  homeward,  with  those  sad  eyes,  that  haggard  smile. 

He  comes  whirling  up  Old  Parr  Street  just  as  Phil  saunters 
in  from  Regent  Street,  as  usual,  cigar  in  mouth.  He  flings 
away  the  cigar  as  he  sees  his  father,  and  they  enter  the  house 
together. 

"  Do  you  dine  at  home,  Philip  ? "  the  father  asks. 

"  Do  you,  sir  ?  I  will  if  you  do,"  says  the  son,  "  and  if  you 
are  alone." 

"  Alone.  Yes.  That  is,  there'll  be  Hunt,  I  suppose,  whom 
you  don't  like.     But  the  poor  fellow  has  few  places  to-  dine 

at.     What?     D Hunt?     That's  a  strong  expression  about 

a  poor  fellow  in  misfortune,  and  your  father's  old  friend." 

I  am  afraid  Philip  had  used  that  wicked  monosyllable 
whilst  his  father  was  speaking,  and  at  the  mention  of  the 
clergyman's  detested  name.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  father.  It 
slipped  out  in  spite  of  me.  I  can't  help  it.  I  hate  the  fel- 
low." 

"  You  don't  disguise  your  likes  or  dislikes,  Philip,"  says,  or 
rather  groans,  the  safe  man,  the  sound  man,  the  prosperous 
man,  the  lucky  man,  the  miserable  man.  For  years  and 
years  he  has  known  that  his  boy's  heart  has  revolted  from 
him,  and  detected  him,  and  gone  from  him;  and  with  shame 
and  remorse,  and  sickening  feeling,  he  lies  awake  in  the 
night-watches,  and  thinks  how  he  is  alone — alone  in  the 
world.  Ah!  Love  your  parents,  young  one<;'  Oh  Father 
Beneficent!  strengthen  our  hearts;  strengthen  and  purify  them 
so  that  we  may  not  have  to  blush  before  our  children! 

"  You  don't  disguise  your  likes  and  dislikes,  Philip,"  says 
the  father  then,  with  a  tone  that  smites  strangely  and  keenly 
on  the  young  man. 

There  is  a  great  tremor  in  Philip's  voice,  as  he  says,  "  No, 
father,  I  can't  bear  that  man,  and  I  can't  disguise  my  feelings. 
I  have  just  parted  from  the  man.     I  have  just  met  him." 
"  Where?" 

"At — at  Mrs.  Brandon's,  father."  He  blushes  like  a  girl 
as  he  sneaks. 


2o6  TIIL  ADVENTURES  OF  PITTLTP 

At  the  next  moment  he  is  scared  by  the  execration  which 
hisses  from  his  father's  Hps,  and  the  awful  look  of  hate  which 
the  elder's  face  assumes — the  fatal,  forlorn,  fallen,  lost  look 
which,  man  and  boy,  has  oftened  frightened  poor  Phil.  Philip 
did  not  like  that  look,  nor  indeed  that  other  one,  which  his 
father  cast  at  Hunt,  who  presently  swaggered  in. 

"  What !  you  dine  here  ?  We  rarely  do  papa  the  honor  of 
dining  with  him,"  says  the  parson,  with  his  knowing  leer.  '"  I 
suj^pose,  doctor,  it  is  to  be  fatted-calf  day  now  the  prodigal  has 
come  kome.  There's  worse  things  than  a  good  fillet  of  veal  ; 
eh  ? " 

Whatever  the  meal  might  be,  the  greasy  chaplain  leered  and 
winked  over  it  as  he  gave  it  his  sinister  blessing.  The  two 
elder  guests  tried  to  be  lively  and  gay,  as  Philip  thought,  who 
took  such  little  trouble  to  disguise  his  own  moods  cf  gloom  or 
merriment.  Nothing  was  said  regarding  the  occurrences  of  the 
morning  when  my  young  gentleman  had  been  rather  rude  to 
Mr.  Hunt ;  and  Philip  did  not  need  his  father's  caution  to 
make  no  mention  of  his  previous  meeting  with  their  guest. 
Hunt,  as  usual,  talked  to  the  butler,  made  sidelong  remarks  to 
the  footman,  and  garnished  his  conversation  with  slippery 
double-entendre  and  dirty  old-world  slang.  Petting-houses, 
gambling-houses,  Tattersall's  fights,  and  their  frequenters,  were 
his  cheerful  themes,  and  on  these  he  descanted  as  usual.  The 
doctor  swallowed  this  dose,  which  his  friend  poured  out,  with- 
out the  least  expression  of  disgust.  On  the  contrary,  he  was 
cheerful :  he  was  for  an  extra  bottle  of  claret — it  never  could 
be  in  better  order  than  it  was  now. 

The  bottle  was  scarce  put  on  the  table,  and  tasted  and  pro- 
nounced perfect,  when — oh  !  disappointment! — the  butler  reap- 
pears with  a  note  for  the  doctor.  One  of  his  patients.  He 
must  go.  She  has  little  the  matter  with  her.  She  lives  hard 
by,  in  May  Fair.  "  You  and  Hunt  finish  this  bottle,  unless  I 
am  back  before  it  is  done  ;  and  if  it  is  done,  we'll  have  another," 
says  Dr.  Pirmin,  jovially.  "  Don't  stir.  Hunt  " — and  Dr.  Firmin 
is  gone,  leaving  Philip  alone  with  the  guest  to  whom  he  had 
certainly  been  rude  in  the  morning. 

"  The  doctor's  patients  often  grow  very  unwell  about  claret 
time,"  growls  Mr.  Hunt,  some  few  minutes  after.  "  Never 
mind.  The  drink's  good — good  !  as  somebody  said  at  your 
famous  call-supper,  Mr.  Philip — won't  call  you  Philip,  as  you 
don't  like  it.  You  were  uncommon  crusty  to  me  this  morning, 
to  be  sure.  In  my  time  there  would  have  been  bottles  broke, 
or  worse,  for  that  sort  of  treatment." 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  TffE  IVORLI).  207 

"  I  have  asked  your  pardon,"  Philip  said.  "  I  was  annoyed 
about — no  matter  what — and  had  no  right  to  be  rude  to  Mrs. 
Brandon's  guest." 

"■  I  say,  did  you  tell  the  governor  that  you  saw  me  in 
Thornhaugh  Street?  "  asks  Hunt. 

''  I  was  very  rude  and  ill-tempered,  and  again  I  confess  I 
was  wrong,"  said  Phil,  boggling  and  stuttering,  and  turning 
very  red.     He  remembered  his  father's  injunction. 

"  I  say  again,  sir,  did  you  tell  your  father  of  our  meeting 
this  morning  ?  "  demands  the  clergyman. 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  right  have  you  to  ask  me  about  my 
private  conversation  with  my  father  ?  "  asks  Philip,  with  tower- 
ing dignity. 

"  You  won't  tell  me  ?  "  Then  you  have  told  him.  He's  a 
nice  man,  your  father  is,  for  a  moral  man." 

"  I  am  not  anxious  for  your  opinion  about  my  father's 
morality,  Mr.  Hunt,"  says  Philip,  gasping  in  a  bewildered  man- 
ner, and  drumming  the  table.  "  I  am  here  to  replace  him  in 
his  absence,  and  treat  his  guest  with  civility." 

"  Civility  1     Pretty  civility  !  "  says  the  other,  glaring  at  him. 

"  Such  as  it  is,  sir,  it  is  my  best,  and — I — I  have  no  other," 
groans  the  young  man. 

"  Old  friend  of  your  father's,  a  university  man,  a  Master  of 
Arts,  a  gentleman  born,  by  Jove !  a  clergy-man — though  I  sink 
that " 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  do  sink  that,"  says  Philip. 

"  Am  I  a  dog,"  shrieks  out  the  clergyman,  "  to  be  treated 
by  you  in  this  way  ?  Who  are  you  ?  Do  you  know  who  you 
are  ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  am  striving  with  all  mv  strength  to  remember,"  says 
Philip. 

"  Come  I  I  say  !  don't  try  any  of  your  confounded  airs  on 
me  r^  shrieks  Hunt,  with  a  profusion  of  oaths,  and  swallowing 
glass  after  glass  from  the  various  decanters  before  him.  "  Hang 
me,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  I  would  ha\'e  sent  one — two  at 
your  nob,  though  you  were  twice  as  tall !  Who  are  you,  to 
patronize  your  senior,  your  father's  old  pal — a  university  man  : 
you  confounded,  supercilious " 

"  I  am  here  to  pay  every  attention  to  my  father's  guest," 
says  Phil  ;  "  but,  if  you  have  finished  your  wine,  I  shall  be 
happy  to  break  up  the  meeting,  as  early  as  you  please." 

"  You  shall  pay  me  ;  I  swear  you  shall,"  said  Hunt. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hunt  1  "  cried  Philip,  jumping  up,  and  clenchiHg 
his  great  fists,  "  I  should  desire  nothing  better." 


2o8  THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILIP 

The  man  shrank  back,  tliinking  PhiHp  was  going  to  strike 
him  (as  Philip  told  me  in  describing  the  scene),  and  made  for 
the  bell.  But  when  the  butler  came,  Philip  only  asked  for 
coffee  ;  and  Plunt,  uttering  a  mad  oath  or  two,  staggered  out  of 
the  room  after  the  servant.  Brice  said  he  had  been  drinking 
before  he  came.  He  was  often  so.  And  Phil  blessed  his  stars 
that  he  had  not  assaulted  his  father's  guest  then  and  there, 
under  his  own  roof-tree. 

He  went  out  into  the  air.  He  gasped  and  cooled  himself 
under  the  stars.  He  soothed  his  feelings  by  his  customary 
consolation  of  tobacco.  He  remembered  that  Ridley  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street  held  a  divan  that  night ;  and  jumped  into  a  cab, 
and  drove  to  his  old  friend. 

The  maid  of  the  house,  who  came  to  the  door  as  the  cab  was 
driving  away,  stopped  it ;  and  as  Phil  entered  the  passage,  he 
found  the  Little  Sister  and  his  father  talking  together  in  the 
hall.  The  doctor's  broad  hat  shaded  his  face  from  the  hall- 
lamp,  which  was  burning  with  an  extra  brightness,  but  Mrs. 
Brandon's  was  very  pale,  and  she  had  been  crying. 

She  gave  a  little  scream  when  she  saw  Phil.  "  Ah !  is  it 
you,  dear?"  she  said.  She  ran  up  to  him:  seized  both  his 
hands  :  clung  to  him,  and  sobbed  a  thousand  hot  tears  on  his 
hand.  "  I  never  will.  Oh,  ne\'er,  never,  never  !  "  she  mur- 
mured. 

The  doctor's  broad  chest  heaved  as  with  a  great  sigh  of 
relief.  He  looked  at  the  woman  and  at  his  son  with  a  strange 
smile  ; — not  a  sweet  smile. 

"  God  bless  you,  Caroline,"  he  said,  in  his  pompous,  rather 
theatrical  way. 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  still  clinging  to 
Philip's  hand,  and  making  the  doctor  a  little  humble  curtsey. 
And  when  he  was  gone,  again  she  kissed  Philip's  hand,  and 
dropped  her  tears  on  it,  and  said,  "  Never,  my  dear ;  no,  never, 
never ! " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN  WHICH   PHILIP   IS  VERY   ILL-TEMPERED. 

Philip  had  long  divined  a  part  of  his  dear  little  friend's 
history.  An  educated  young  girl  had  been  found,  cajole<;l, 
deserted  by  a  gentleman  of  the  world.     And  poor  Caroline  was 


ox  HIS  WA  Y  rHKOUGir  THE  WORLD. 


209 


the  victim,  and  Philip's  own  father  the  seducer.  He  easily 
guessed  as  much  as  this  of  the  sad  little  story.  Dr.  Firmin's 
part  in  it  was  enough  to  shock  his  son  with  a  thrill  of  disgust, 
and  to  increase  the  mistrust,  doubt,  alienation,  with  which  the 
father  had  long  inspired  the  son.  What  would  Philip  feel, 
when  all  the  pages  of  that  black  book  were  opened  to  him,  and 
he  came  to  hear  of  a  false  marriage,  and  a  ruined  and  outcast 
woman,  deserted  for  years  by  the  man  to  whom  he  himself  was 
most  bound  t  In  a  word,  Philip  had  considered  this  as  a  mere 
case  of  early  libertinism,  and  no  more  ;  and  it  was  as  such,  in 
the  very  few  words  which  he  may  have  uttered  to  me  respecting 
this  matter,  that  he  had  chosen  to  regard  it.  I  knew  no  more 
than  my  friend  had  told  me  of  the  story  as  yet ;  it  was  only  by 
degrees  that  I  learned  it,  and  as  events,  now  subsequent,  served 
to  develop  and  explain  it. 

The  elder  Firmin,  when  questioned  by  his  old  acquaintance, 
and,  as  it  appeared,  accomplice  of  former  days,  regarding  the 
end  of  a  certain  intrigue  at  Margate,  which  had  occurred  some 
four  or  five  and  twenty  years  back,  and  when  Firmin,  having 
reason  to  avoid  his  college  creditors,  chose  to  live  away  and 
bear  a  false  name,  had  told  the  clergyman  a  number  of  false- 
hoods which  appeared  to  satisfy  him.  What  had  become  of 
that  poor  little  thing  about  whom  he  had  made  such  a  fool  of 
himself  ?  Oh,  she  was  dead,  dead  ever  so  many  years  before. 
He  had  pensioned  her  off.  She  had  married,  and  died  in  Can- 
ada— yes,  in  Canada.  Poor  little  thing  !  Yes,  she  was  a  good 
little  thing,  and,  at  one  time,  he  had  been  very  soft  about  her. 
I  am  sorry  to  have  to  state  of  a  respectable  gentleman  that  he 
told  lies,  and  told  lies  habitually  and  easily.  But,  you  see,  if 
you  commit  a  crime,  and  break  a  seventh  commandment  let  us 
say,  or  an  eighth,  or  choose  any  number  you  will — you  will  prob- 
ably have  to  back  the  lie  of  action  by  the  lie  of  the  tongue, 
and  so  you  are  fairly  warned,  and  I  have  no  help  for  you.  If 
I  murder  a  man,  and  the  policeman  inquires,  "  Pray,  sir,  did 
you  cut  this  here  gentleman's  throat  ? "  I  must  bear  false  wit- 
ness, you  see,  out  of  self-defence,  though  I  may  be  naturally  a 
most  reliable,  truth-telling  man.  And  so  with  regard  to  many 
crimes  which  gentlemen  commit — it  is  painful  to  have  to  say 
respecting  gentlemen,  but  they  become  neither  more  nor  less 
than  habitual  liars,  and  have  to  go  lying  on  through  life  to  you, 

to  me,  to  the  servants,  to  their  wives,  to  their  children,  to 

oh,  awful  name  !  I  bow  and  humble  myself.  May  we  kneel, 
may  we  kneel,  nor  strive  to  speak  our  falsehoods  before  Thee  ! 

And  rx),  my  dear  sir,  seeing  that  after  committing  any  in- 


2 1  o  THE  A  D  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

fraction  of  the  moral  laws,  you  must  tell  lies  in  order  to  back 
yourself  out  of  your  scrape,  let  me  ask  you,  as  a  man  of  honor 
and  a  gentleman,  whether  you  had  not  better  forego  the  crime, 
so  as  to  avoid  the  unavoidable,  and  unpleasant,  and  daily  recur- 
ring necessity  of  the  subsequent  perjury  ?  A  poor  young  girl 
of  tiie  lower  orders,  cajoled,  or  ruined,  more  or  less,  is  of  course 
no  great  matter.  The  little  baggage  is  turned  out  of  doors — 
worse  luck  for  her ! — or  she  gets  a  place,  or  she  marries  one  of 
her  own  class,  who  has  not  the  exquisite  delicacy  belonging  to 
*•'  gentle  blood  " — and  there  is  an  end  of  her.  But  if  you  marry 
her  privately  and  irregularly  yourself,  and  then  throw  her  off, 
and  then  marry  somebody  else,  you  are  brought  to  book  in  all 
sorts  of  unpleasant  ways.  I  am  writing  of  quite  an  old  story, 
be  pleased  to  remember.  The  first  part  of  the  history  I  myself 
printed  some  twenty  years  ago  ;  and  if  you  fancy  I  allude  to 
any  more  modern  period,  madam,  you  are  entirely  out  in  your 
conjecture. 

It  must  have  been  a  most  unpleasant  duty  for  a  man  of 
fashion,  honor,  and  good  family,  to  lie  to  a  poor  tipsy,  disrepu- 
table bankrupt  merchant's  daughter,  such  as  Caroline  Gann,  but 
George  Ih-and  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  had  no  other  choice,  and 
when  he  lied — as  in  severe  cases,  when  he  administered  calomel 
— he  thought  it  best  to  give  the  drug  freely.  Thus  he  lied  to 
Hunt,  saying  that  Mrs.  Brandon  was  long  since  dead  in  Canada ; 
and  he  lied  to  Caroline,  prescribing  for  her  the  very  same  pill, 
as  it  were,  and  saying  that  Hunt  was  long  since  dead  in  Can- 
ada too.  And  I  can  fancy  few  more  painful  and  humiliating 
positions  for  a  man  of  rank  and  fashion  and  reputation,  than 
to  have  to  demean  himself  so  far  as  to  tell  lies  to  a  little  low- 
bred person,  who  gets  her  bread  as  a  nurse  of  the  sick,  and  has 
not  the  proper  use  of  her  lis. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Hunt !  "  Firmin  had  said  to  the  Little  Sister,  in 
one  of  those  sad  little  colloquies  which  sometimes  took  place 
between  him  and  his  victim,  his  wife  of  old  days.  "  A  wild,  bad 
man.  Hunt  was — in  days  when  I  own  I  was  little  better  !  I 
have  deeply  repented  since,  Caroline  ;  of  nothing  more  than  of 
my  conduct  to  you  ;  for  you  were  worthy  of  a  better  fate,  and 
you  loved  me  truly — madly." 

"  Yes,"  says  Caroline. 
'  *'  I  was  wild  then  !  I  was  desperate  !  I  had  ruined  my 
fortunes,  estranged  my  father  from  me,  was  hiding  from  my 
creditors  under  an  assumed  name — that  under  which  I  saw  you. 
Ah,  why  did  I  ever  come  to  your  house,  my  poor  child  ?  The 
mark  of  the  demon  was  upon  me.     I  did  not  dare  to  speak  of 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  21 X 

marriage  before  my  father.  You  have  yours,  and  tend  him 
with  your  ever  constant  goodness.  Do  you  know  that  my  father 
would  not  see  me  when  he  died  ?  Oh,  it's  a  cruel  thing  to 
think  of  !  "  And  the  suffering  creature  slaps  his  tall  forehead 
with  his  trembling  hand  ;  and  some  of  his  grief  about  his  own 
father,  I  dare  say,  is  sincere,  for  he  feels  the  shame  and  remorse 
of  being  alienated  from  his  own  son. 

As  for  the  marriage — that  it  was  a  most  wicked  and  unjusti- 
fiable deceit,  he  owned  ;  but  he  was  wild  when  it  took  place, 
wild  with  debt  and  with  despair  at  his  father's  estrangement 
from  him — but  the  fact  was,  it  was  no  marriage. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that !  "  sighed  the  poor  Little  Sister. 

"  Why  1  "  asked  the  other  eagerly.  His  love  was  dead,  but 
his  vanity  was  still  hale  and  well.  "  Did  you  care  for  some- 
body else,  Caroline  ?  Did  you  forget  your  George,  whom  you 
used  to " 

"  No  !  "  said  the  little  woman,  bravely.  "  But  I  couldn't 
live  with  a  man  who  behaved  to  any  woman  so  dishonest  as 
you  behaved  to  me.  I  liked  you  because  I  thought  you  was  a 
gentleman.  My  poor  painter  was  whom  you  used  to  despise 
and  trample  to  hearth — and  my  dear  dear  Philip  is,  Mr.  Firmin. 
But  gentlemen  tell  the  truth  !  Gentlemen  don't  deceive  poor 
innocent  girls,  and  desert  'em  without  a  penny  !  "• 

"  Caroline  !  I  was  driven  by  my  creditors.     I " 

"  Never  mind.  It's  over  now.  I  bear  you  no  malice,  Mr. 
Firmin,  but  I  would  not  marry  you,  no,  not  to  be  doctor's  wife 
to  the  Queen  !  " 

This  had  been  the  Little  Sister's  language  when  there  was 
no  thought  of  the  existence  of  Hunt,  the  clergyman  who  had 
celebrated  their  marriage  ;  and  I  don't  know  whether  Firmin 
was  most  piqued  or  pleased  at  the  divorce  which  the  little 
woman  pronounced  of  her  own  decree.  But  when  the  ill- 
omened  Hunt  made  his  appearance,  doubts  and  terrors  filled 
the  physician's  mind.  Hunt  was  needy,  greedy,  treacherous, 
unscrupulous,  desperate.  He  could  hold  this  marriage  over 
the  doctor.  He  could  threaten,  extort,  expose,  perhaps  inxali- 
date  Philip's  legitimacy.  The  first  marriage,  almost  certainly, 
was  null,  but  the  scandal  would  be  fatal  to  Firmin's  reputation 
and  practice.  And  the  quarrel  with  his  son  entailed  conse- 
quences not  pleasant  to  think  of.  You  see  George  Firmin, 
Esq.,  M.D.,  was  a  man  with  a  great  development  of  the  back 
head  ;  when  he  willed  a  thing,  he  willed  so  fiercely  that  he  must 
have  it,  never  mind  the  consequences.  And  so  he  had  willed 
to  make  himself  master  of  poor  little  Caroline  .  and  so  he  had 


2 1 2  THE  AD  VENTURES  OF  riFILlP 

willed,  as  a  young  man,  to  have  horses,  splendid  entertainments, 
roulette  and  e'carte,  and  so  forth  ;  and  the  bill  came  at  its 
natural  season,  and  George  Firmin,  F^sq.,  did  not  always  like 
to  pay.  But  for  a  grand,  prosperous,  highly  bred  gentleman  in 
the  best  society — with  a  polished  forehead  and  manners,  and 
universally  looked  up  to — to  have  to  tell  lies  to  a  poor,  little, 
timid,  uncomplaining,  sick-room  nurse,  it  7f'(?J- humiliating,  wasn't 
it  ?     And  I  can  feel  for  Firmin. 

To  have  to  lie  to  Hunt  was  disgusting :  but  somehow  not 
so  exquisitely  mean  and  degrading  as  to  have  to  cheat  a  little 
trusting,  humble,  houseless  creature,  over  the  bloom  of  whose 
gentle  young  life  his  accursed  foot  had  already  trampled.  But 
then  this  Hunt  was  such  a  cad  and  ruffian  that  there  need  be 
no  scruple  about  humbugging  Ji'mi ;  and  if  Firmin  had  had  any 
humor  he  might  have  had  a  grim  sort  of  pleasure  in  leading  the 
dirty  clergyman  a  dance  thro'  bush  thro'  briar.  So,  perhaps 
(of  course  I  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  the  fact),  the  doctor 
did  not  altogether  dislike  the  duty  which  now  devolved  on  him 
of  hoodwinking  his  old  acquaintance  and  accomplice.  I  don't 
like  to  use  such  a  vulgar  phrase  regarding  a  man  in  Doctor 
Firmin's  high  social  position,  as  to  say  of  him  and  the  jail- 
chaplain  that  it  was  "  thief  catch  thief  ;  "  but  at  any  rate  Hunt 
is  such  a  low,  graceless,  friendless  vagabond,  that  if  he  comes 
in  for  a  few  kicks,  or  is  mystified,  wo.  need  not  be  very  sorry. 
When  Mr.  Thurtell  is  hung  we  don't  put  on  mourning.  Flis  is 
a  painful  position  for  the  moment ;  but,  after  all,  he  has  mur- 
dered ]\Ir.  William  Weare. 

Firmin  was  a  bold  and  courageous  man,  hot  in  pursuit, 
fierce  in  desire,  but  cool  in  danger,  and  rapid  in  action.  Some 
of  his  great  successes  as  a  physician  arose  from  his  daring  and 
successful  practice  in  sudden  emergency.  While  Hunt  was 
only  lurching  about  the  town  an  aimless  miscreant,  living  from 
dirty  hand  to  dirty  mouth,  and  as  long  as  he  could  get  drink, 
cards,  and  shelter,  tolerably  content,  or  at  least  pretty  easily 
appeased  by  a  guinea-dose  or  two  —  Firmin  could  adopt  the 
palliative  system  ;  soothe  his  patient  with  an  occasional  bounty  ; 
set  him  to  sleep  with  a  composing  draught  of  claret  or  brandy  ; 
and  let  the  day  take  care  of  itself.  He  might  die  ;  he  might 
have  a  fancy  to  go  abroad  again  ;  he  might  be  transported  for 
forgery  or  some  other  rascaldom,  Dr.  Firmin  would  console 
himself  ;  and  he  trusted  to  the  chapter  of  accidents  to  get  rid 
of  his  friend.  But  Hunt,  aware  that  the  woman  was  alive  whom 
he  had  actnall)',  though  unlawfully  married  to  Firmin,  became 
an   enemy  whom  it  was  necessary  to  subdue,  to  cajole,  or  to 


ox  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  213 

bribe,  and  the  sooner  the  doctor  put  himself  on  his  defence  the 
better.  What  should  the  defence  be  ?  Perhaps  the  most  ef- 
fectual was  a  fierce  attack  on  the  enemy;  perhaps  it  would  be 
better  to  bribe  him.  The  course  to  be  taken  would  be  best 
ascertained  after  a  little  previous  reconnoitring. 

"  He  will  try  and  inflame  Caroline,"  the  doctor  thought, 
"  by  representing  her  wrongs  and  her  rights  to  her.  He  will 
show  her  that,  as  my  wife,  she  has  a  right  to  my  name  and  a 
share  of  my  income.  A  less  mercenary  woman  never  lived  than 
this  poor  little  creature.  She  disdains  money,  and,  except  for  her 
father's  sake,  would  have  taken  none  of  mine.  But  to  punish 
me  for  certainly  rather  shabby  behavior ;  to  claim  and  take  her 
own  right  and  position  in  the  world  as  an  honest  woman,  may 
she  not  be  induced  to  declare  war  against  me,  and  stand  by  her 
marriage  ?  After  she  left  home,  her  two  Irish  half-sisters 
deserted  her  and  spat  upon  her  ;  and  when  she  would  have 
returned,  the  heartless  women  drove  her  from  the  door.  Oh, 
the  vixens  !  And  now  to  drive  by  them  in  her  carriage,  to 
claim  a  maintenance  from  me,  and  to  have  a  right  to  my 
honorable  name,  would  she  not  have  her  dearest  revenge  over 
her  sisters  by  so  declaring  her  marriage  }  " 

Firmin's  noble  mind  misgave  him  very  considerably  on  this 
point.  He  knew  women,  and  how  those  had  treated  their  little 
sister.  Was  it  in  human  nature  not  to  be  revenged  ?  These 
thoughts  rose  straightway  in  Firmin's  mind,  when  he  heard  that 
the  much  dreaded  meeting  between  Caroline  and  the  chaplain 
had  come  to  pass. 

As  he  ate  his  dinner  with  his  guest,  his  enemy,  opi^osite  to 
him,  he  was  determining  on  his  plan  of  action.  The  screen 
was  up,  and  he  was  laying  his  guns  behind  it,  so  to  speak.  Of 
course  he  was  as  civil  to  Hunt  as  the  tenant  to  his  landlord 
when  he  comes  with  no  rent.  So  the  doctor  laughed,  joked, 
bragged,  talked  his  best,  and  was  thinking  the  while  what  was 
to  be  done  against  the  danger. 

He  had  a  plan  which  might  succeed.  He  must  see  Caroline 
immediately.  He  knew  the  weak  point  of  her  heart,  and  where 
she  was  most  likely  to  be  vulnerable.  And  he  would  act  against 
her  as  barbarians  of  old  acted  against  their  enemies,  when  they 
brought  the  captive  wives'  and  children  in  front  of  the  battle, 
and  bade  the  foe  strike  through  them.  He  knew  how  Caroline 
loved  his  boy.  It  was  through  that  love  he  would  work  upon 
her.  As  he  washes  his  pretty  hands  for  dinner,  and  bathes  his 
noble  brow,  he  arranges  his  little  plan.  He  orders  himself  to 
be   sent   for   soon   after  the   second  bottle  of  claret — and  i^ 


■2 1 4  THE  AD  1  'EiVTURES  OF  PIIILIl^ 

appears  the  doctor's  servants  were  accustomed  to  the  delivery 
of  these  messages  from  their  master  to  hhnself.  The  plan 
arranged,  now  let  us  take  our  dinner  and  our  wine,  and  make 
ourselves  comfortable  until  the  moment  of  action.  In  his 
wild-oats  days,  when  travelling  abroad  with  wild  and  noble 
companions,  Firmin  had  fought  a  duel  or  two,  and  was  always 
remarkable  for  his  gayety  of  conversation  and  the  line  appetite 
which  he  showed  at  breakfast  before  going  on  to  the  field.  So, 
perhaps,  Hunt,  had  he  not  been  stupefied  by  previous  drink, 
might  ha\'e  taken  the  alarm  by  remarking  Firmin's  extra 
courtesy  and  gayety,  as  they  dined  together.  It  was  Jiunc  vmuin, 
c^as  lequor. 

When  the  second  bottle  of  claret  was  engaged,  Dr.  Firmin 
starts.  He  has  an  advance  of  half-an-hour  at  least  on  his 
adversary,  or  on  the  man  who  may  be  his  adversary.  If  the 
Little  Sister  is  at  home,  he  will  see  her — he  will  lay  bare  his 
candid  heart  to  her,  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  The  Little 
Sister  was  at  home. 

"  I  want  to  sjDcak  to  you  very  particularly  about  that  case  of 
poor  Lady  Humandhaw,"  says  he,  dropping  his  voice. 

"  I  will  step  out,  my  dear,  and  take  a  little  fresh  air,"  says 
Captain  Gann  ;  meaning  that  he  will  be  off  to  the  "Admiral 
Byng  ; "  and  the  two  are  together. 

"  I  have  had  something  on  my  conscience.  I  have  deceived 
you,  Caroline,"  says  the  doctor,  with  the  beautiful  shining  fore- 
head and  hat. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  says  she,  bending  over  her  work ; 
"  you've  used  me  to  that." 

"A  man  whom  you  knew  once,  and  who  tempted  me  for  his 
own  selfish  ends  to  do  a  very  wrong  thing  by  you — a  man  whom 
I  thought  dead  is  alive  : — Tufton  Hunt,  who  performed  that — • 
that  illegal  ceremony  at  Margate,  of  which  so  often  and  often 
on  my  knees  I  have  repented,  Caroline  !  " 

The  beautiful  hands  are  clasped,  the  beautiful  deep  voice 
thrills  lowly  through  the  room  ;  and  if  a  tear  or  two  can  be 
squeezed  out  of  the  beautiful  eyes,  I  dare  say  the  doctor  will 
not  be  sorry. 

"  He  has  been  here  to-day.  Him  and  Mr.  Philip  was  here 
and  quarrelled.     Philip  has  told  you,  I  suppose,  sir?" 

"  Before  heaven,  '  on  the  word  of  a  gentleman,'  when  I  said 
he  was  dead,  Caroline,  I  thought  he  was  dead  !  Yes,  I  declare, 
at  our  college.  Maxwell — Dr.  Maxwell — who  had  been  at  Cam- 
bridge with  us,  told  me  that  our  old  friend  Hunt  had  died  in 
Canada,"     (This,    my  beloved  friends  and  readers,   may  not 


NURSE  AND   DOCTOR. 


ON  HIS  \VA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD, 


215 


have  been  the  precise  long  bow  which  George  Firmin,  Esq.' 
M.D.,  pulled;  but  that  he  twanged  a  famous  lie  out,  whenever 
there  was  occasion  for  the  weapon,  1  assure  you  is  an  undoubt- 
ed fact.)  "  Yes,  Dr.  Maxwell  told  me  our  old  friend  was  dead 
— our  old  friend  .''  My  worst  enemy  and  yours  !  But  let  that 
pass.  It  was  he,  Caroline,  who  led  me  into  crimes  which  I 
have  never  ceased  to  deplore." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  sighs  the  Little  Sister,  "  since  I've  known 
you,  you  was  big  enough  to  take  care  of  yourself  in  that  way." 

"  I  have  not  come  to  excuse  myself,  Caroline,"  says  the  deep 
sweet  voice.  "  I  have  done  you  enough  wrong,  and  I  feel  it 
here — at  this  heart.  I  have  not  come  to  speak  about  myself, 
but  of  some  one  I  love  the  best  of  all  the  world — the  only  being 
I  do  love — some  one  you  love,  you  good  and  generous  soul — 
—about  Philip." 

"What  is  it  about  Philip?"  asks  Mrs.  Brandon,  very 
quickly. 

"  Do  you  want  harm  to  happen  to  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  darling  boy,  no !  "  cries  the  Little  Sister,  clasping 
her  little  hands. 

"  Would  you  keep  him  from,  harm  ?  " 

"Ah,  sir,  you  know  I  would.  When  he  had  the  scarlet 
fever,  didn't  I  pour  the  drink  down  his  poor  throat,  and  nurse 
him,  and  tend  him,  as  if,  as  if — as  a  mother  would  her  own  child  ?" 

"You  did,  you  did,  you  noble,  noble  woman;  and  heaven 
bless  you  for  it !  A  father  does.  I  am  not  all  heartless,  Caro- 
line, as  you  deem  me,  perhaps." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  much  merit,  your  loving  him,'"  says  Caro- 
line, resuming  her  sewing.  And,  perhaps,  she  thinks  within 
herself,  "  What  is  he  a-coming  to  ?  "  You  see  she  was  a  shrewd 
little  person,  when  her  passions  and  partialities  did  not  over- 
come her  reason  ;  and  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this 
elegant  Dr.  Firmin,  whom  she  had  admired  so  once,  was  a — not 
altogether  veracious  gentleman.  In  fact,  I  heard  her  myself 
say  afterwards,  "  La  !  he  used  to  talk  so  fine,  and  slap  his  hand 
on  his  heart,  you  know  ;  but  I  usedn't  to  believe  him,  no  more 
than  a  man  in  a  play."  "  It's  not  much  merit  your  loving  that 
boy,"  says  Caroline,  then.     "  But  what  about  him,  sir?  " 

Then  Firmin  explained.  This  man  Hunt  was  capable  of 
any  crime  for  money  or  revenge.     Seeing  Caroline  was  alive  *  * 

"  I  s'pose  you  told  him  I  was  dead  too,  sir,"  says  she,  look- 
ing up  from  the  work. 

"  Spare  me,  spare  me  !  Years  ago,  perhaps,  when  I  had 
lost  sight  of  you.     I  may,  perhaps  have  thought  *  *  *  " 


2 1 6  THE  AD  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  And  it's  not  to  you,  George  Brandon — it's  not  to  you," 
cries  Caroline,  starting  up,  and  speaking  witli  lier  sweet,  inno- 
cent, ringing  voice  ;  "  it's  to  kind,  dear  friends, — it's  to  my 
good  God  that  I  owe  my  life,  which  you  had  flung  it  away. 
And  I  paid  you  back  by  guarding  your  boy's  dear  life,  I  did, 
under — under  Him  who  giveth  and  taketh.  And  bless  His 
name  ! " 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,  and  I  am  a  bad,  sinful  man, 
Caroline,"  says  the  other.  "  You  saved  my  Philip's — our 
Philip's  life,  at  the  risk  of  your  own.  Now  I  tell  you  that 
another  immense  danger  menaces  him,  and  may  come  upon  him 
any  day  as  long  as  yonder  scoundrel  is  alive.  Suppose  his 
character  is  assailed ;  suppose,  thinking  you  dead,  I  married 
another .''  " 

"  Ah,  George,  you  never  thought  me  dead  ;  though,  perhaps, 
you  wished  it,  sir.  Many  would  have  died,"  added  the  poor 
Little  Sister. 

"  Look,  Caroline  !  If  I  was  married  to  you,  my  wife — 
Philip's  mother — was  not  my  wife,  and  he  is  her  natural  son. 
The  property  he  inherits  does  not  belong  to  him.  The  children 
of  his  grandfather's  other  daughter  claim  it,  and  Philip  is  a 
beggar.  Philip,  bred  as  he  has  been — Philip,  the  heir  to  a 
mother's  large  fortune." 

"  And — and  his  father's,  too  t  "  asks  Caroline,  anxiously. 

"  I  daren't  tell  you — though,  no,  by  heaven  !  I  can  trust 
you  with  everything.  My  own  great  gains  have  been  swallowed 
up  in  speculations  which  have  been  almost  all  fatal.  There  has 
been  a  fate  hanging  over  me,  Caroline — a  righteous  punishment 
for  having  deserted  you.  I  sleep  with  a  sword  hanging  over 
my  head,  which  may  fall  and  destroy  me.  I  walk  with  a  vol- 
cano under  my  feet,  which  may  burst  any  day  and  annihilate 
me.  And  people  speak  of  the  famous  Dr.  Firmin,  the  rich  Dr. 
Firmin,  the  prosperous  Dr.  Firmin !  I  shall  have  a  title  soon, 
I  believe.  I  am  believed  to  be  happy,  and  I  am  alone ;  and  the 
wretchedest  man  alive." 

"  Alone,  are  you  ?  "  said  Caroline.  "  There  was  a  womnn 
once  who  would  have  kept  by  you,  only  you — you  flung  her 
away.  Look  here,  George  Brandon.  It's  over  with  us.  Years 
and  years  ago  it  lies  where  a  cherub  was  buried.  But  I  love 
my  Philip  ;  and  I  won't  hurt  him,  no,  never,  never,  never ! " 

And  as  the  doctor  turned  to  go  away,  Caroline  followed 
him  wistfully  into  the  hall,  and  it  was  there  that  Philip  found 
them. 

Caroline's  tender  "nevei;,"  "never,"  rang  in  Philip's  mem- 


ON  ms  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  217 

ory  as  he  sat  at  Ridley's  party,  amidst  the  artists  and  authors 
there  assembled.  Phil  was  thoughtful  and  silent.  He  did  not 
laugh  very  loud.  He  did  not  praise  or  abuse  anybody  out- 
rageously, as  was  the  wont  of  that  most  emphatic  young  gen- 
tleman. He  scarcely  contradicted  a  single  person  ;  and  per- 
haps, when  Larkins  and  Scumble's  last  picture  was  beautiful, 
or  Bunch,  the  critic  of  the  Connoisseur^  praised  Bowman's  last 
novel,  contented  himself  with  a  scornful  "  Ho  !  "  and  a  pull  at 
his  whiskers,  by  way  of  protest  and  denial.  Had  he  been  in 
his  usual  fine  spirits,  and  enjoying  his  ordinary  flow  of  talk,  he 
would  have  informed  Larkins  and  the  assembled  company  not 
only  that  Scumble  was  an  impostor,  but  that  he,  Larkins,  was 
an  idiot  for  admiring  him.  He  would  have  informed  Bunch 
that  he  was  infatuated  about  that  jackass  Bowman,  that  cock- 
ney, that  wretched  ignoramus,  who  didn't  know  his  own  or  any 
other  language.  He  would  have  taken  down  one  of  Bowman's 
stories  from  the  shelf,  and  proved  the  folly,  the  imbecility,  and 
crass  ignorance  of  that  author.  (Ridley  has  a  simple  little 
stock  of  novels  and  poems  in  an  old  cabinet  in  his  studio,  and 
reads  them  still  with  much  artless  wonder  and  respect.)  Or, 
to  be  sure,  Phil  would  have  asserted  propositions  the  exact 
contrary  of  those  here  maintained,  and  declared  that  Bowman 
was  a  genius,  and  Scumble  a  most  accomplished  artist.  But 
then,  you  know,  somebody  else  must  have  commenced  by  taking 
the  other  side.  Certainly  a  more  paradoxical,  and  provoking, 
and  obstinate,  and  contradictory  disputant  than  ]\Ir.  Phil  I 
never  knew.  I  never  met  Dr.  Johnson,  who  died  before  I  came 
up  to  town  ;  but  I  do  believe  Phil  Firmin  would  have  stood  up 
and  argued  even  with  hhn. 

At  these  Thursday  divans  the  host  provided  the  modest  and 
kindly  refreshment,  and  Betsy  the  maid,  or  Virgilio  the  model, 
travelled  to  and  fro  with  glasses  and  water.  Each  guest 
brought  his  own  smoke,and  I  promise  you  there  were  such  liberal 
contributions  of  the  article,  that  the  studio  was  full  of  it ;  and 
new-comers  used  to  be  saluted  by  a  roar  of  laughter  as  you 
heard,  rather  than  saw,  them  entering,  and  choking  in  the  fog. 
It  was,  "  Hilloa,  Prodgers  !  is  that  you,  old  boy  ?  "  and  the 
beard  of  Prodgers  (that  famous  sculptor)  would  presently  loom 
through  the  cloud.  It  was,  "Newcome,  how  goes?"  and  Mr. 
Clive  Newcome  (a  mediocre  artist,  I  must  own,  but  a  famous 
good  fellow,  with  an  uncommonly  pretty  villa  and  pretty  and  rich 
wife  at  Wimbledon)  would  make  his  appearance,  and  be  warmly 
greeted  by  our  little  host.  "  It  was,  "  Is  that  you,  F.  B.  ?  would 
you  like  a  link,  old  boy,  to  see  you  through  the  fog?  "      And 


2  1  j^  TJ/Jt  AD  VENTURES  OF  J'HILiP 

the  deep  voice  of  Frederick  Rayham,  Esquire  (the  eminent  critic 
on  Art),  would  booni  out  of  the  tobacco-mist,  and  would  exclaim, 
"  A  link  ?  I  would  like  a  drink."  Ah,  ghosts  of  youth,  again  ye 
draw  near  !  Old  figures  glimmer  through  the  cloud.  Old  songs 
echo  out  of  the  distance.  What  were  you  saying  anon  about 
Dr.  Johnson,  boys  ?  I  am  sure  some  of  us  must  remember 
him.  As  for  me,  I  am  so  old,  that  I  might  have  been  at  Edial 
school — the  other  pupil  along  with  little  Davy  Garrick  and  his 
brother. 

We  had  a  bachelor's  supper  in  the  Temple  so  lately  that  I 
think  that  we  must  pay  but  a  very  brief  visit  to  a  smoking  party 
in  Thornhaugh  Street,  or  the  ladies  will  say  that  we  are  too 
fond  of  bachelor  habits,  and  keep  our  friends  away  from  their 
charming  and  amiable  society.  A  novel  must  not  smell  of 
cigars  much,  nor  should  its  refined  and  genteel  page  be  stained 
\/ith  too  frecjiient  brandy-and-water.  Please  to  imagine,  then, 
the  prattle  of  the  artists,  authors,  and  amateurs  assembled  at 
Ridley's  divan.  Fancy  Jarman,  the  minature  painter,  drinking 
mor.e  liquor  than  any  man  present,  asking  his  neighbor  {sub 
voce)  why  Ridley  does  not  give  his  father  (the  old  butler)  five 
shillings  to  wait ;  suggesting  that  perhaps  the  old  man  is  gone 
out,  and  is  getting  seven-and-sixpence  elsewhere  ;  praising  Rid- 
ley's picture  aloud,  and  sneering  at  it  in  an  undertone ;  and 
when  a  man  of  rank  happens  to  enter  the  room,  shambling  up 
to  him  and  fawning  on  him,  and  cringing  to  him  with  fulsome 
praise  and  flattery.  When  the  gentleman's  back  is  turned, 
Jarman  can  spit  epigrams  at  it.  I  hope  he  will  never  forgi\-e 
Ridley,  and  always  continue  to  hate  him  :  for  hate  him  Jarman 
will,  as  long  as  he  is  prosperous,  and  curse  him  as  long  as  the 
world  esteems  him.  Look  at  Pym,  the  incumbent  of  St.  Pronzc 
hard  by,  coming  in  to  join  the  literary  and  artistic  assembl)', 
and  choking  in  his  white  neckcloth  to  the  diversion  of  all  the 
company  who  can  see  him  !  Sixteen,  eighteen,  twenty  men 
are  assembled.  Open  J;he  windows,  or  sure  they  will  all  be 
stifled  with  the  smoke  !  Why,  it  fills  the  whole  house  so,  that 
the  Little  Sister  has  to  open  the  parlor  window  on  the  ground- 
floor,  and  gasp  for  fresh  air. 

Phil's  head  and  cigar  are  thrust  out  from  a  window  above, 
and  he  lolls  there,  musing  about  his  own  affairs,  as  his  smoke 
ascends  to  the  skies.  Young  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is  known  to 
be  wealthy,  and  his  father  gives  very  good  parties  in  Old  Parr 
Street,  so  Jarman  sidles  up  to  Phil  and  wants  a  little  fresh  air 
too.  He  enters  into  conversation  by  abusing  Ridley's  picture 
that  is  on  the  easel. 


OiV  HIS  WAY  rilROUGII  THE  WORLD. 


'9 


Everybody  is  praising  it ;  what  do  you  tliink  of  it,  Mr. 
I^'irmin  ?     Very  queer  drawing  about  tliose  eyes,  isn't  there  ? 

"  Is  there  ?  "  growls  Phil. 

"Very  loud  color." 

"Oh!"  says  Phil. 

"  The  composition  is  so  clearly  prigged  from  Raphael." 

" Indeed  ! " 

■"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't  think  you  know  who  I  am," 
continues  the  other,  with  a  simper. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  says  Phil,  glaring  at  him.  "You're  a  painter, 
and  your  name  is  Mr.  Envy." 

"  Sir  !  "  shrieks  the  painter  j  but  he  is  addressing  himself 
to  the  tails  of  Phil's  coat,  the  superior  half  of  Mr.  Firmin's 
body  is  stretching  out  of  the  window.  Now,  you  may  speak  of 
a  man  behind  his  back,  but  not  to  him.  So  Mr.  Jarman  with- 
draws, and  addresses  himself,  face  to  face,  to  somebody  else 
in  the  company.  I  daresay  he  abuses  that  upstart,  impudent, 
bumptious  young  doctor's  son.  Have  I  not  owned  that  Philip 
was  often  very  rude?  and  to-night  he  is  in  a  specially  bad 
humor. 

As  he  continues  to  stare  into  the  street,  who  is  that  who  has 
just  reeled  up  to  the  railings  below,  and  is  talking  in  at  Mrs. 
Brandon's  window  ?  Whose  blackguard  voice  and  laugh  are 
those  which  Phil  recognizes  with  a  shudder  ?  It  is  the  voice 
and  laugh  of  our  friend  ]\Ir.  Hunt,  whom  Philip  left  not  very 
long  since,  near  his  father's  house  in  Old  Parr  Street,  and  both 
of  those  familiar  sounds  are  more  vinous,  more  odious,  more 
impudent  than  they  were  even  two  hours  ago. 

"  Hilloa  !  I  say !  "  he  calls  out  with  a  laugh  and  a  curse, 
"  Pst !  Mrs.  WhaVd'you-call-em  !  Hang  it  !  don't  shut  the 
window.  Let  a  fellow  in  !  "  and  he  looks  towards  the  upper 
window,  where  Philip's  head  and  bust  appear  dark  before  the 
light,  Hunt  cries  out,  "  Holloa  !  what  game's  up  now,  I  wonder  ? 
Supper  and  ball.  Shouldn't  be  surprised."  And  he  hiccups 
a  waltz  tune,  and  clatters  time  to  it  with  his  dirty  boots. 

"  Mrs.  What-d'you-call-em  !  Mrs.  B— !  "  the  sot  then  re- 
commences to  shriek  out.  "  Must  see  you — most  particular 
business.  Private  and  confidential.  Hear  of  something  to 
your  advantage."  And  rap,  rap,  rap,  he  is  now  thundering  at 
the  door.  In  the  clatter  of  twenty  voices,  few  hear  Hunt's 
noise  except  Philip  ;  or,  if  they  do,  only  imagine  that  another 
of  Ridley's  guests  is  arriving. 

At  the  halldoor  there  is  talk  and  altercation,  and  the  high 
shriek  of  a  well-known  odious  voice.      Philip  moves  quickly 


220  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILrP 

from  his  window,  shoulders  friend  Jarman  at  the  studio  door, 
and  hustling  past  him  obtains,  no  doubt,  more  good  wishes 
from  that  ingenious  artist.  Philip  is  so  rude  and  overbearing 
that  I  really  have  a  mind  to  depose  him  from  his  place  of  hero 
— only,  you  see,  we  are  committed.  His  name  is  on  the  page 
overhead,  and  we  can't  take  it  down  and  put  up  another.  The 
Little  Sister  is  standing  in  her  hall  by  the  just  opened  door, 
and  remonstrating  with  Mr.  Hunt,  who  appears  to  wish  to  force 
his  way  in. 

"  Pooh  !  shtuff,  my  dear!  If  he's  here  I  musht  see  him — ■ 
particular  business — get  out  of  that !  "  and  he  reels  forward  and 
against  little  Caroline's  shoulder. 

"  Get  away,  you  brute,  you  !  "  cries  the  little  lady.  "  Go 
home,  Mr.  Hunt ;  you  are  worse  than  you  were  this  morning." 
She  is  a  resolute  little  woman,  and  puts  out  a  firm  little  arm 
against  this  odious  invader.  She  has  seen  patients  in  hospital 
raging  in  fever  :  she  is  not  frightened  by  a  tipsy  man.  "  La  !  is 
it  you,  Mr.  Philip  ?  ^\\o  ever  will  take  this  horrid  man  f  He 
ain't  fit  to  go  up  stairs  among  the  gentlemen  ;  indeed  he  ain't." 

"  You  said  Firmin  was  here — and  it  isn't  the  father.  It's 
the  cub  !  I  want  the  doctor.  Where's  the  doctor  ?  "  hiccups 
the  chaplain,  lurching  against  the  wall ;  and  then  he  looks  at 
Philip  with  bloodshot  eyes,  that  twinkle  hate.  "Who  wantsh 
you,  I  shlike  to  know  ?  Had  enough  of  }ou  already  to-day. 
Conceited  brute.  Don't  look  at  7ne  in  that  sortaway !  I  ain't 
afraid  of  you — ain't  afraid  anybody.  Time  was  when  I  was  a 
young  man  fight  you  as  soon  as  look  at  you.     I  say,  Philip  ! " 

"  Go  home,  now.  Do  go  home,  there's  a  good  man,"  says 
the  landlady. 

**  I  say  !  Look  here — hie — hi  !  Philip  !  On  your  word  as 
a  gentleman,  your  father's  not  here  ?  He's  a  sly  old  boots, 
Brummell  Firmin  is — Trinity  man — I'm  not  a  Trinity  man — 
Corpus  man.  I  say,  Philip,  give  us  your  hand.  Bear  no  malice. 
Look  here — something  very  particular.  After  dinner — went 
into  Air  Street — you  know — 7-ouge  gagne,  et  coiileur — cleaned 
out.  Cleaned  out,  on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman  and  master  of 
arts  of  the  University  of  Cambridge.  So  was  your  father — no, 
he  went  out  in  medicine.  I  say,  Philip,  hand  us  out  five  sover- 
eigns, and  let's  try  the  luck  again  !  What,  you  won't !  It's 
mean,  I  say.     Don't  be  mean." 

"  Oh,  here's  five  shillings  !  Go  and  have  a  cab.  Fetch  a 
cab  for  him,  Virgilio,  do ! "  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

"That's  not  enough,  my  dear!"  cries  the  chaplain,  advan- 
cing towards  Mrs.  Brandon,  with  such  a  leer  and  air,  that  Philip, 


ON  HIS  WAY  TITROUGfl  THE  WORLD.  221 

half  choked  with  passion,  runs  forward,  grips  Hunt  by  the  collar, 
and  crying  out,  "  You  filthy  scoundrel !  as  this  is  not  my  house, 
I  may  kick  you  out  of  it !  " — in  another  instant  has  run  Hunt 
through  the  passage,  hurled  him  down  the  steps,  and  sent  him 
sprawling  into  the  kennel. 

"  Row  down  below,"  says  Rosebury,  placidly,  looking  from 
above.  "  Personal  conflict.  Intoxicated  individual — in  gutter. 
Our  impetuous  friend  has  floored  him." 

Hunt,  after  a  moment,  sits  up  and  glares  at  Philip.  He  is 
not  hurt.  Perhaps  the  shock  has  sobered  him.  He  thinks, 
perhaps,  Philip  is  going  to  strike  again.  "  Hands  off,  Bastard  ! " 
shrieks  out  the  prostrate  wretch. 

"O  Philip,  Philip  !  He's  mad,  he's  tipsy  !"  cries  out  the 
Little  Sister,  running  into  the  street.  She  puts  her  arms  round 
Philip.  "  Don't  mind  him,  dear — he's  mad  !  Policeman  !  The 
gentleman  has  had  too  much.     Come  in,  Philip ;  come  in  !  " 

She  took  him  into  her  little  room.  She  was  pleased  with 
the  gallantry  of  the  boy.  She  liked  to  see  him  just  now,  stand- 
itig  over  her  enem)'-,  courageous,  victorious,  her  champion, 
"  La  !  how  savage  he  did  look  ;  and  how  brave  and  strong  you 
are  !  But  the  little  wretch  ain't  fit  to  stand  before  such  as  you  !  " 
And  she  passed  her  little  hand  down  his  arm,  of  which  the 
muscles  were  all  in  a  quiver  from  the  recent  skirmish. 

"  What  did  the  scoundrel  mean  by  calling  me  bastard  ?  " 
said  Philip,  the  wild  blue  eyes  glaring  round  about  with  more 
than  ordinary  fierceness. 

"  Nonsense,  dear !  Who  minds  anything  he  says,  that 
beast?  His  language  is  always  horrid;  he's  not  a  gentleman. 
He  had  had  too  much  this  morning  when  he  was  here.  What 
matters  what  he  says  ?  He  won't  know  anything  about  it  to- 
morrow. But  it  was  kind  of  my  Philip  to  rescue  his  poor  little 
nurse,  wasn't  it  ?  Like  a  novel.  Come  in,  and  let  me  make 
you  some  tea.  Don't  go  to  no  more  smoking :  you  have  had 
enough.     Come  in  and  talk  to  me." 

And,  as  a  mother,  with  sweet  pious  face,  yearns  to  her  little 
children  from  her  seat,  she  fondles  him,  she  watches  him  ;  she 
fills  her  teapot  from  her  singing  kettle.  She  talks — talks  in 
her  homely  way,  and  on  this  subject  and  that.  It  is  a  wonder 
how  she  prattles  on,  who  is  generally  rather  silent.  She  won't 
see  Phil's  eyes,  which  are  following  her  about  very  strangely 
and  fiercely.  And  when  again  he  mutters,  "  What  did  he  mean 
by  *  *  *  "  "  La,  my  dear,  how  cross  you  are  !  "  she  breaks 
out.  "  It's  always  so  ;  you  won't  be  happy  without  your  cigar. 
Here's  a  cheroot,  a  beauty  !     Pa  brought  it  home  from  the  club. 


222  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

A  China  captain  gave  him  some.  You  must  light  it  at  the  little 
end.  There  !  "  And  if  I  could  draw  the  picture  which  my 
mind  sees  of  her  lighting  Phil's  cheroot  for  him,  and  smiling 
the  while,  the  little  innocent  Delilah  coaxing  and  wheedling 
this  young  Samson,  I  know  it  would  be  a  pretty  picture.  I 
wish  Ridley  would  sketch  it  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DAMOCLES. 

On  the  next  morning,  at  an  hour  so  early  that  Old  Parr 
Street  was  scarce  awake,  and  even  the  maids  who  wash  the 
broad  steps  of  the  houses  of  the  tailors  and  medical  gentlemen 
who  inhabit  that  region  had  not  yet  gone  down  on  their  knees 
before  their  respective  doors,  a  ring  was  heard  at  Dr.  Firmin's 
night-bell,  and  when  the  door  was  opened  by  the  yawning  at- 
tendant, a  little  person  in  a  gray  gown  and  a  black  bonnet  made 
her  appearance,  handed  a  note  to  the  servant,  and  saicT  the  case 
was  most  urgent  and  the  doctor  must  come  at  once.  Was  not 
Lady  Humandhaw  the  noble  person  whom  we  last  mentioned, 
as  the  invalid  about  whom  the  doctor  and  the  nurse  had  spoken 
a  few  words  on  the  previous  evening  ?  The  Little  Sister,  for  it 
was  she,  used  the  very  same  name  to  the  servant,  who  retired 
grumbling  to  waken  up  his  master  and  deliver  the  note. 

Nurse  Brandon  sat  awhile  in  the  great  gaunt  dining-room 
where  hung  the  portrait  of  the  doctor  in  his  splendid  black 
collar  and  cuffs,  and  contemplated  this  masterpiece  until  an 
invasion  of  housemaids  drove  her  from  the  apartment,  when  she 
took  refuge  in  that  other  little  room  to  which  Mrs.  Firmin's 
portrait  had  been  consigned, 

"That's  like  him  ever  so  many  years  and  years  ago,"  she 
thinks,  "  It  is  a  little  handsomer  ;  but  it  has  his  wicked  look 
that  I  used  to  think  so  killing,  and  so  did  my  sisters,  both  of 
them — they  were  ready  to  tear  out  each  other's  eyes  for  jeal- 
ousy. And  that's  Mrs.  Firmin  !  Well,  I  suppose  the  painter 
haven't  flattered  her.  If  he  have  she  could  have  been  no  great 
things,  Mrs.  F,  couldn't."  And  the  doctor,  entering  softly  by 
the  opened  door  and  over  the  thick  Turkey  carpet,  comes  up 
to  her  noiselessly,  and  finds  the  Little  Sister  gazing  at  the  pof' 
trait  of  the  departed  lady. 


ON  JriS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


223 


"Oh,  ifs  you,  is  It.  I  wonder  whether  you  treated  her  no 
better  than  you  treated  me,  Dr.  ¥.  J've  a  notion  she's  not  the 
only  one.  She  don't  look  happy,  poor  thing,"  says  the  little 
lady. 

"  What  is  it,  Caroline  ?  asked  the  deep-voiced  doctor  ;  ''  and 
what  bruigs  you  so  early  ?  " 

The  Little  Sister  then  explains  to  him.  "  Last  night  after 
he  went  away  Hunt  came,  sure  enough.  He  had  been  drinking. 
He  was  very  rude,  and  Philip  wouldn't  bear  it.  Philip  had  a 
good  courage  of  his  own  and  a  hot  blood.  And  Philip  thought 
Hunt  was  insulting  her,  the  Little  Sister.  So  he  up  with  his 
liand  and  down  goes  Mr.  Hunt  on  the  pa^vement.  Well,  when 
he  was  down  he  was  in  a  dreadful  way,  and  he  called  Philip  a 
dreadful  name." 

"  A  name  ?  what  name  ?  "  Then  Caroline  told  the  doctor 
the  name  Mr.  Hunt  had  used  ;  and  if  Firmin's  face  usually 
looked  wicked,  I  dare  say  it  did  not  seem  very  angelical  when 
he  heard  how  this  odious  name  had  been  applied  to  his  son. 
"  Can  he  do  Philip  a  mischief  ?  "  Caroline  continued.  "  I 
thought  I  was  bound  to  tell  his  father.  Look  here  Dr.  F.,  I 
don't  want  to  do  my  dear  boy  a  harm.  But  suppose  what  you 
told  me  last  night  isn't  true — as  I  don't  think  you  much  mind  ! 
— mind — saying  things  that  are  incorrect,  you  know,  when  us 
women  are  in  the  case.  But  suppose  when  you  played  the  vil- 
lain, thinking  only  to  take  in  a  poor  innocent  girl  of  sixteen,  it 
was  you  who  were  took  in,  and  that  I  was  your  real  wife  after 
all  ?     There  would  be  a  punishment !  " 

"  I  should  have  an  honest  and  good  wife,  Caroline,"  said 
the  doctor,  with  a  groan. 

"  This  would  be  a  punishment,  not  for  you,  but  for  my  poor 
Philip,"  the  woman  goes  on.  "  What  has  he  done,  that  his 
honest  name  should  be  took  from  him — and  his  fortune  per- 
haps ?  I  have  been  lying  broad  awake  all  night  thinking  of 
him.  Ah,  George  Brandon  !  Why,  why  did  you  come  to  my 
poor  old  father's  house,  and  bring  this  misery  down  on  me,  and 
on  your  child  unborn  ?  " 

"  On  myself,  the  worst  of  all,"  says  the  doctor. 

"  You  deserv-e  it.  But  it's  an  innocent  that  has  had,  or  will 
have,  to  suffer  most.  O  George  Brandon  !  Think  of  a  poor 
child,  flung  away,  and  left  to  starve  and  die,  without  even  so 
much  as  knowing  your  real  name  !  Think  of  your  boy,  perhaps 
brought  to  shame  and  poverty  through  your  fault !  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  often  think  of  my  wrong  ?  "  says 
the  doctor.     "  That  it  does  not  cause  me  sleepless  nights,  and 


224 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PIIfLTP 


hours  of  anguish  ?  Ah  !  Caroline  !  "  and  he  looks  in  the  glass ; 
"  I  am  not  shaved,  and  it's  very  unbecoming,"  he  thinks  ;  that 
is,  if  I  may  dare  to  read  his  thoughts,  as  I  do  to  report  his 
unheard  words. 

"You  think  of  your  wrong  now  it  may  be  found  out,  I  dare 
say  !  "  says  Caroline,  "  Suppose  this  Hunt  turns  against  you  ? 
He  is  desperate  ;  mad  for  drink  and  money  ;  has  been  in  jail 
— as  he  said  this  very  night  to  me  and  my  papa.  He'll  do  or 
say  anything.  If  you  treat  him  hard,  and  Philip  have  treated 
him  hard — not  harder  than  served  him  right  though — he'll  pull 
the  house  down  and  himself  under  it ;  but  he'll  be  revenged. 
Perhaps  he  drank  so  much  last  night  that  he  may  have  forgot. 
But  I  fear  he  means  mischief,  and  I  came  here  to  say  so,  and 
hoping  that  you  might  be  kep'  on  your  guard.  Doctor  F.,  and  if 
you  have  to  quarrel  with  him,  I  don't  know  what  you  ever  will 
do,  1  am  sure — no  more  than  if  you  had  to  fight  a  chimney- 
sweep in  the  street.  I  have  been  awake  all  night  thinking,  and 
as  soon  as  ever  I  saw  the  daylight,  I  determined  I  would  run 
and  tell  you." 

"  When  he  called  Philip  that  name,  did  the  boy  seem  much 
disturbed  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Yes  ;  he  referred  to  it  again  and  again — though  I  tried  to 
coax  him  out  of  it.  But  it  was  on  his  mind  last  night,  and  I 
am  sure  he  will  think  of  it  the  first  thing  this  morning.  Ah, 
yes,  doctor  !  conscience  will  sometimes  let  a  gentleman  doze  ; 
but  after  discover}'  has  come,  and  opened  your  curtains,  and 
said,  '  You  desired  to  be  called  early  ! '  there's  little  use  in  try- 
ing to  sleep  much.  You  look  very  much  frightened,  Doctor  F.," 
the  nurse  continues.  "  You  haven't  such  a  courage  as  Philip 
has  ;  or  as  you  had  when  you  were  a  young  man,  and  came  a 
leading  poor  girls  astray.  You  used  to  be  afraid  of  nothing 
then.  Do  you  remember  that  fellow  on  board  the  steamboat  in 
Scotland  in  our  wedding-trip,  and,  la  !  I  thought  you  was  going 
to  kilj  him.  That  poor  little  Lord  Cinqbars  told  me  ever  so 
many  stories  then  about  your  courage  and  shooting  people.  It 
wasn't  very  courageous,  leavhig  a  poor  girl  without  even  a  name, 
and  scarce  a  guinea,  was  it  ?  But  I  ain't  come  to  call  up  old 
stories — only  to  warn  you.  E\'en  in  old  times,  when  he  mar- 
ried us,  and  1  thought  he  was  doing  a  kindness,  I  never  could 
abide  this  horrible  man.  In  Scotland,  when  you  was  away 
shooting  with  your  poor  little  lord,  the  things  Hunt  used  to  say 
and  look  was  dreadful.  I  wonder  how  ever  you,  who  were 
gentlemen,  could  put  up  with  such  a  fellow  !  Ah,  that  was  a 
sad  honeymoon  of  ours  !     I  wonder  why  I'm  a  thinking  ot  it 


ON  HIS  WAY  TIIROrcir  THE   WORLD.  235 

now  ?  T  suppose  it's  from  having  seen  llie  picture  of  llie  other 
one — poor  lady !  " 

"  I  have  told  you,  Caroline,  that  I  was  so  wild  and  desperate 
at  that  unhappy  time,  I  was  scarcely  accountable  for  my  ac- 
tions. If  I  left  you,  it  was  because  1  had  no  other  resource 
but  flight.  I  was  a  ruined,  penniless  man,  but  for  my  mar- 
riage with  Ellen  Ringwood.  You  don't  suppose  the  marriage 
was  happy  ?  Happy  !  w  hen  have  I  ever  been  happy  ?  My  lot 
is  to  be  wretched,  and  bring  wretchedness  down  on  those  I 
love  !  On  you,  on  my  father,  on  my  wife,  on  my  bo}- — I  am  a 
doomed  man.  Ah,  that  the  innocent  should  suffer  for  me  !  " 
And  our  friend  looks  askance  in  the  glass,  at  the  blue  chin, 
and  hollow  eyes  which  make  his  guilt  look  the  more  haggard. 

"  I  never  had  my  lines,"  the  Little  Sister  continued,  "  I 
never  knew  there  were  papers,  or  writings,  or  anything  but  a  ring 
and  a  clergyman,  when  you  married  me.  But  I've  heard  tell 
that  people  in  Scotland  don't  want  a  clergyman  at  all  ;  and  if 
they  call  themselves  man  and  wife,  they  are  man  and  wife. 
Now,  sir,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brandon  certainly  did  travel  together 
in  Scotland — witness  that  man  whom  you  were  going  to  throw 
into  the  lake  for  being  rude  to  your  wife — and  *  *  *  La ! 
Don't  fly  out  so  !  It  wasn't  me,  a  poor  girl  of  sixteen,  who 
did  wrong.  It  was  you,  a  man  of  the  world,  who  was  years 
and  years  older." 

When  Brandon  carried  off  his  poor  little  victim  and  wife, 
there  had  been  a  journey  to  Scotland,  where  Lord  Cinqbars, 
then  alive,  had  sporting  quarters.  His  lordship's  chaplain, 
Mr.  Hunt,  had  been  of  the  party,  which  fate  very  soon  after- 
wards separated.  Death  seized  on  Cinqbars  .at  Naples. 
Debt  caused  Firmin — Brandon,  as  he  called  himself  then — to 
fly  the  country.  The  chaplain  wandered  from  jail  to  jail. 
And  as  for  poor  little  Caroline  Brandon,  I  suppose  the  husband 
who  had  married  her  under  a  false  name  thought  that  to  escape 
her,  leave  her,  and  disown  her  altogether  was  an  easier  and 
less  dangerous  plan  than  to  continue  relations  with  her.  So 
one  day,  four  months  after  their  marriage,  the  3'oung  couple 
being  then  at  Dover,  Caroline's  husband  happened  to  go  out 
for  a  walk.  But  he  sent  away  a  portmanteau  by  the  back  door 
when  he  went  out  for  the  walk,  and  as  Caroline  was  waiting 
for  her  little  dinner  some  hours  after,  the  porter  who  carried 
the  luggage  came  with  a  little  note  from  her  dearest  G.  B.  : 
and  it  was  full  of  little  fond  expressions  of  regard  and  affec- 
tion, such  as  gentlemen  put  into  little  notes  ;  but  dearest  (».  B. 
§aid  the  bailiffs  were  upon  him,  and  one  of  them  had   arrived 


2  26  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

that  morning,  and  he  must  fly  :  and  he  took  half  the  money  he 
had,  and  left  half  for  his  little  Carry.  And  he  would  be  back 
soon,  and  arrange  matters  ;  or  tell  her  where  to  write  and  fol- 
low him.  And  she  was  to  take  care  of  her  little  health,  and  to 
write  a  great  deal  to  her  Georg)^  And  she  did  not  know  how 
to  write  very  well  then  ;  but  she  did  her  best,  and  improved  a 
great  deal  ;  for,  indeed,  she  wrote  a  great  deal,  poor  thing. 
Sheets  and  sheets  of  paper  she  blotted  with  ink  and  tears.  And 
then  the  money  was  spent ;  and  the  next  money  ;  and  no  more 
came,  and  no  more  letters.  And  she  was  alone  at  sea,  sink- 
ing, sinking,  when  it  pleased  heaven  to  send  that  friend  who 
rescued  her.  It  is  such  a  sad,  sad  little  story,  that  in  fact  I 
don't  like  dwelling  on  it ;  not  caring  to  look  upon  poor  inno- 
cent, trusting  creatures  in  pain. 

*  *  Well,  then,  when  Caroline  exclaimed,  "  La  !  don't  fly 
out  so.  Dr.  Firmin  !  "  I  suppose  the  doctor  had  been  crying 
out,  and  swearing  fiercely,  at  the  recollections  of  his  friend 
Mr.  Brandon,  and  at  the  danger  which  possibly  hung  over  that 
gentleman.  Marriage  ceremonies  are  dangerous  risks  in  jest 
or  in  earnest.  You  can't  pretend  to  marry  even  a  poor  old 
bankrupt  lodging-house-keeper's  daughter  without  some  risk  of 
being  brought  subsequently  to  book.  If  you  have  a  vulgar 
wife  alive,  and  afterwards  choose  to  leave  her  and  marry  an 
earl's  niece,  you  will  come  to  trouble,  however  w'ell  connected 
you  are  and  highly  placed  in  societ)\  If  you  have  had  thirty 
thousand  pounds  with  wife  No.  2,  and  have  to  pay  it  back  on 
a  sudden,  the  payment  may  be  inconvenient.  You  may  be 
tried  for  bigamy,  and  sentenced,  goodness  knows  to  what  pun- 
ishment. At  any  rate,  if  the  matter  is  made  public,  and  you 
are  a  most  respectable  man,  moving  in  the  highest  scientific 
and  social  circles,  those  circles  may  be  disposed  to  request  you 
to  walk  out  of  their  circumference.  A  novelist,  I  know,  ought 
to  have  no  likes,  dislikes,  pity,  partiality  for  his  characters  ;  but 
I  declare  I  cannot  help  feeling  a  respectful  compassion  for  a 
gentleman  who,  in  consequence  of  a  youthful,  and,  I  am  sure, 
sincerely  regretted  folly,  may  be  liable  to  lose  his  fortune,  his 
place  in  society,  and  his  considerable  practice.  Punishment 
hasn't  a  right  to  come  with  such  a  pcde  claiuio.  There  ought 
to  be  limitations  ;  and  it  is  shabby  and  revengeful  of  Justice  to 
present  her  little  bill  when  it  has  been  more  than  twenty  years 
owing.  *  *  *  Having  had  his  talk  out  with  the  Little 
Sister,  having  a  long-past  crime  suddenly  taken  down  from  the 
shelf ;  liaving  a  remorse  long  since  supposed  to  be  dead  and 
buried,  suddenly  starting  up  in  the  most  blustering,  bolster- 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


227 


ous,  inconvenient  manner ;  having  a  rage  and  terror  tearing 
him  within  ;  I  can  fancy  this  most  respectable  physician  going 
about  his  day's  work,  and  most  sincerely  sympathize  with  him. 
Who  is  to  heal  the  physician  ?  Is  he  not  more  sick  at  heart 
than  most  of  his  patients  that  day  ?  He  has  to  listen  to  Lady 
Megrim  cackling  for  half  an  hour  at  least,  and  describing  her 
little  ailments.  He  has  to  listen,  and  never  once  to  dare  to 
say,  "  Confound  you,  old  chatterbox  1  What  are  you  prating 
about  your  ailments  to  me,  who  am  suffering  real  torture  whilst 
I  am  smirking  in  your  face?  "  He  has  to  wear  the  inspiriting 
smile,  to  breathe  the  gentle  joke,  to  console,  to  whisper  hope, 
to  administer  remedy ;  and  all  day,  perhaps,  he  sees  no  one  so 
utterly  sick,  so  sad,  so  despairing,  as  himself. 

The  first  person  on  whom  he  had  to  practise  hypocrisy  that 
day  was  his  own  son,  who  chose  to  come  to  breakfast — a  meal 
of  which  son  and  father  seldom  now  partook  in  company, 
"  What  does  he  know,  and  what  does  he  suspect  ? "  are  the 
father's  thoughts  ;  but  a  louring  gloom  is  on  Philip's  face,  and 
the  father's  eyes  look  into  the  son's,  but  cannot  penetrate  their 
darkness. 

"  Did  you  stay  late  last  night,  Philip  ?  "  says  papa. 

"Yes,  sir,  rather  late,"  answers  the  son. 

"  Pleasant  party  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  stupid.  Your  friend  Mr.  Plunt  wanted  to  come 
in.  He  was  drunk,  and  rude  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  put  him  out  of  the  door.  He  was  dreadfully  violent 
and  abusive." 

"  Swore  a  good  deal,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Fiercely,  sir,  and  called  names.'' 

I  dare  say  Philip's  heart  beat  so  when  he  said  these  last 
words,  that  they  were  inaudible  ;  at  all  events,  Philip's  father 
did  not  appear  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  words,  for  he  was 
busy  reading  the  Morning  Post,  and  behind  that  sheet  of 
fashionable  news  hid  whatever  expression  of  agony  there  might 
be  on  his  face,  Philip  afterwards  told  his  present  biographer 
of  this  breakfast  meeting  and  dreary  tcfe-a-tete.  "  I  burned  to 
ask  what  was  the  meaning  of  that  scoundrel's  words  of  the  past 
night,"  Philip  said  to  his  biographer  ;  "  but  I  did  not  dare, 
somehow.  You  see,  Pendennis,  it  is  not  pleasant  to  say  point- 
blank  to  your  father,  '  Sir,  are  you  a  confirmed  scoundrel,  or 
are  you  not  ?  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  made  a  double  mar- 
riage, as  yonder  other  rascal  hinted  ;  and  that  my  own  legit- 
imacy and  my  mother's  fair  fame,  as  well  as  poor,  harmless 
Caroline's  honor  and  happiness,  have  been  destroyed  by  your 


228  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

crime  ? '  ]5ut  I  had  lain  awake  all  night  thinking  about  that 
scoundrel  Hunt's  words,  and  whether  there  was  any  meaning 
beyond  drunken  malice  in  what  he  said."  So  we  find  that 
three  people  had  passed  a  bad  night  in  consequence  of  Mr. 
Firmin's  e\il  behavior  of  five-and-twenty  years  back,  which 
surely  was  a  most  unreasonable  punishment  for  a  sin  of  such 
old  date.  I  wish,  dearly  beloved  brother  sinners,  we  could  take 
all  the  punishment  for  our  individual  crimes  on  our  individual 
shoulders  :  but  we  drag  them  all  down  with  us — that  is  the  fact  ; 
and  when  Macheath  is  condemned  to  hang,  it  is  Polly  and  Lucy 
who  have  to  weep  and  suffer  and  wear  piteous  mourning  in  their 
hearts  long  after  the  dare-devil  rogue  has  jumped  off  the 
Tyburn  ladder. 

"Well,  sir,  he  did  not  say  a  word,"  said  Philip,  recounting 
the  meeting  to  his  friend  ;  "  not  a  word,  at  least,  regarding  the 
matter  both  of  us  had  on  our  hearts.  But  about  fashion,  parties, 
politics,  he  discoursed  much  more  freely  than  was  usual  with 
him.  He  said  I  might  have  had  Lord  Ringwood's  seat  for 
Whipham,  but  for  my  unfortunate  politics.  What  made  a  Rad- 
ical of  me,  he  asked,  who  was  naturally  one  of  the  most  haughty 
of  men?  "  ("and  that,  I  think,  perhaps  I  am,"  says  Phil,  "and 
a  good  many  liberal  fellows  are.")  I  should  calm  down,  he 
was  sure — I  should  calm  down,  and  be  of  the  politics  des 
homnies  du  moridey 

Philip  could  not  say  to  his  father,  "  Sir,  it  is  seeing  you 
cringe  before  great  ones  that  has  set  my  own  back  up."  There 
were  countless  points  about  which  both  father  and  son  could 
not  speak  ;  and  an  invisible,  unexpressed,  perfectly  unintelligible 
mistrust,  always  was  present  when  those  two  were  tde-a-tcte. 

Their  meal  was  scarce  ended  when  entered  to  them  Mr. 
Hunt,  with  his  hat  on.  I  was  not  present  at  the  tinie,  and  can- 
not speak  as  a  certainty  ;  but  I  should  think  at  his  ominous 
appearance  Philip  may  have  turned  red  and  his  father  pale. 
"  Now  is  the  time,"  both,  I  daresay,  thought ;  and  the  doctor 
remembered  his  stormy  young  days  of  foreign  gambling,  intrigue 
and  duel,  when  he  was  put  on  his  ground  before  his  adversary, 
and  bidden,  at  a  given  signal,  to  fire.  One,  two,  three  !  Each 
man's  hand  was  armed  with  malice  and  murder.  Philip  had 
plenty  of  pluck  for  his  part,  but  I  should  think  on  such  an 
occasion  might  be  a  little  nervous  and  fluttered,  whereas  his 
father's  eye  was  keen,  and  his  aim  rapid  and  steady. 

"You  and  Philip  had  a  difference  last  night,  Philip  tells 
me,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  and  1  promised  he  should  pay  me,"  said  the  clergyman. 


OiV  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  229 

"  And  I  said  I  should  desire  no  better,"  says  Mr.  Phil. 

**  He  struck  his  senior,  his  father's  f  riend — a  sick  man,  a 
clergyman,"  gasped  Hunt. 

"  Were  you  to  repeat  what  you  did  last  night,  I  should  re- 
peat what  1  did,"  said  Phil.     "  You  insulted  a  good  woman." 

"  It's  a  lie,  sir,"  cries  the  other. 

"  You  insulted  a  good  woman,  a  lady  in  her  own  house,  and 
I  turned  you  out  of  it,"  said  Phil. 

"  I  say  again,  it  is  a  lie,  sir !  "  screams  Hunt,  with  a  stamp 
on  the  table. 

"  That  you  should  give  me  the  lie,  or  otherwise,  is  perfectly 
immaterial  to  me.  But  whenever  you  insult  Mrs.  Brandon,  or 
any  harmless  woman  in  my  presence,  I  shall  do  my  best  to 
chastise  you,"  cries  Philip  of  the  red  mustaches,  curling  them 
with  much  dignity. 

"  You  hear  him,  Firmin  ?  "  says  the  parson. 

"  Faith,  I  do.  Hunt !  "  says  the  physician  ;  "  and  I  think  he 
means  what  he  says,  too." 

"  Oh  !  you  take  that  line,  do  you  ? "  cries  Hunt  of  the  dirty 
hands,  the  dirty  teeth,  the  dirty  neckcloth. 

"  I  take  what  you  call  that  line ;  and  whenever  a  rudeness 
is  offered  to  that  admirable  woman  in  my  son's  hearing,  I  shall 
be  astonished  if  he  does  not  resent  it,"  says  the  doctor.  "  Thank 
you,  Philip  !  " 

The  father's  resolute  speech  and  behavior  gave  Philip  great 
momentary  comfort.  Hunt's  words  of  the  night  before  had 
been  occupying  the  young  man's  thoughts.  Had  Firmin  been 
criminal,  he  could  not  be  so  bold. 

"  You  talk  this  way  in  presence  of  your  son  "i  Y'ou  have 
been  talking  over  the  matter  together  before  ?  "  asks  Hunt. 

"  We  have  been  talking  over  the  matter  before — yes.  We 
were  engaged  on  it  when  you  came  into  breakfast,"  says  the 
doctor.  "  Shall  we  go  on  with  the  conversation  where  we  left 
it  oflf  ? " 

"  Well,  do — that  is,  if  you  dare,"  said  the  clergyman,  some- 
what astonished. 

"  Philip,  my  dear,  it  is  ill  for  a  man  to  hide  his  head  before 
his  own  son  ;  but  if  I  am  to  speak — and  speak  I  must  one  day 
or  the  other — why  not  now  ?  " 

"  Why  at  all,  Firmin  ? "  asks  the  clergyman,  astonished  at 
the  other's  rather  sudden  resolve. 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  you,  Mr.  Tufton 
Hunt,"  cries  the  physician,  in  his  most  lofty  manner,  "  of  you 
and  your  presence  in  my  house  ;  your  blackguard  behavior  and 


230  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

your  rascal  extortions — because  you  will  force  me  to  speak  one 
day  or  the  other — and  now,  Philip,  if  you  like,  shall  be  the  day." 

"  Hang  it,  I  say  !     Stop  a  bit !  "  cries  the  clergyman. 

"  I  understand  you  want  some  more  money  from  me." 

"  I  did  promise  Jacobs  I  would  pay  him  to-day,  and  that 
was  what  made  me  so  sulky  last  night ;  and,  perhaps,  1  took  a 
little  too  much.  You  see  my  mind  was  out  of  order  ;  and  what's 
the  use  of  telling  a  story  that  is  no  good  to  any  one,  Firmin — 
least  of  all  to  you,"  cries  the  parson,  darkly. 

"  Because,  you  ruffian,  I'll  bear  with  you  no  more,"  cries 
the  doctor,  the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelling  as  he  looks  fiercely 
at  his  dirty  adversary.  "  In  the  last  nine  months,  Philip,  this 
man  has  had  nine  hundred  pounds  from  me." 

"  The  luck  has  been  so  very  bad,  so  bad,  upon  my  honor, 
now,"  grumbles  the  parson. 

"  To-morrow  he  will  want  more  ;  and  the  next  day  more  ; 
and  the  next  day  more  ;  and,  in  fine,  I  won't  live  with  this 
accursed  man  of  the  sea  round  my  neck.  You  shall  have  the 
story  ;  and  Mr.  Hunt  shall  sit  by  and  witness  against  his  own 
crime  and  mine.  I  had  been  very  wild  at  Cambridge,  when  I 
was  a  young  man.  I  had  quarrelled  with  my  father,  lived  with 
a  dissipated  set,  and  beyond  my  means  ;  and  had  had  my  debts 
paid  so  often  by  your  grandfather,  that  I  was  afraid  to  ask  for 
more.  He  was  stern  to  me ;  I  was  not  dutiful  to  him.  I  own 
my  fault.     Mr.  Hunt  can  bear  witness  to  what  I  say. 

"  I  was  in  hiding  at  Margate,  under  a  false  name.  You 
know  the  name." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  know  the  name,"  Philip  said,  thinking 
he  liked  his  father  better  now  than  he  had  ever  liked  him  in 
his  life,  and  sighing,  "  Ah,  if  he  had  always  been  frank  and 
true  with  me  !  " 

"  I  took  humble  lodgings  with  an  obscure  family."  [If  Dr. 
Firmin  had  a  prodigious  idea  of  his  own  grandeur  and  impor- 
tance, you  see  I  cannot  help  it — and  he  was  long  held  to  be 
such  a  respectable  man.]  "  And  there  I  found  a  young  girl- 
one  of  the  most  innocent  beings  that  ever  a  man  played  with 
and  betrayed.  Betrayed,  I  own  it,  heaven  forgive  me  I  The 
crime  has  been  the  shame  of  my  life,  and  darkened  my  whole 
career  with  misery.  I  got  a  man  worse  than  myself,  if  that 
could  be.  I  got  Hunt  for  a  few  pounds,  which  he  owed  me, 
to  make  a  sham  marriage  between  me  and  poor  Caroline,  My 
money  was  soon  gone.  My  creditors  were  after  me.  I  fled 
the  country,  and  I  left  her." 

"  A  sham   marriage  !  a  sham  marriage  !  "  cries   the  clergy- 


ON  HIS  ]VA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


231 


man.  "  Didn't  you  make  me  perform  It  by  holding  a  pistol  to 
my  throat  ?  A  fellow  won't  risk  transportation  for  nothing. 
But  I  owed  him  money  for  cards,  and  he  had  my  bill,  and  he 
said  he  would  let  me  off,  and  that's  why  I  helped  him.  Never 
mind.  I  am  out  of  the  business  now,  Mr.  Brummell  Firmin 
and  you  are  in  it.  I  have  read  the  Act,  sir.  The  clergyman 
who  performs  the  marriage  is  liable  to  punishment,  if  informed 
against  within  three  years,  and  it's  twenty  years  or  more.  But 
you,  Mr.  Brummell  Firmin, — your  case  is  different ;  and  you, 
my  young  gentleman,  with  the  fiery  whiskers,  who  strike  down 
old  men  of  a  night, — you  may  find  some  of  us  know  how  to  re- 
venge ourseh-es,  though  we  are  down."  And  with  this.  Hunt 
rushed  to  his  greasy  hat,  and  quitted  the  house,  discharging 
imprecations  at  his  hosts  as  he  passed  through  the  hall. 

Son  and  father  sat  awhile  silent,  after  the  departure  of  their 
common  enemy.     At  last  the  father  spoke. 

"  This  is  the  sword  that  has  always  been  hanging  over  my 
head,  and  it  is  now  falling,  Philip." 

"  What  can  the  man  do  ?  Is  the  first  marriage  a  good  mar- 
riage ?  "  asked  Philip,  with  alarmed  face. 

"  It  is  no  marriage.  It  is  void  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 
You  may  suppose  I  have  taken  care  to  learn  the  law  about  that. 
Your  legitimacy  is  safe,  sure  enough.  But  that  man  can  ruin 
me,  or  nearly  so.  He  will  try  to-morrow,  if  not  to-day.  As 
long  as  you  or  I  can  give  him  a  guinea,  he  will  take  it  to  the 
gambling-house.  I  had  the  mania  on  me  myself  once.  My 
poor  father  quarrelled  with  me  in  consequence,  and  died  with- 
out seeing  me.  I  married  your  mother — heaven  help  her,  poor 
soul !  and  forgive  me  for  being  but  a  harsh  husband  to  her — 
with  a  view  of  mending  my  shattered  fortunes.  I  wished  she 
had  been  more  happy,  poor  thing.  But  do  not  blame  me  utterly, 
Philip.  I  was  desperate,  and  she  wished  for  the  marriage  so 
much  !  I  had  good  looks  and  high  spirits  in  those  days.  Peo- 
ple said  so."  [And  here  he  glances  obliquely  at  his  own  hand- 
some portrait.]     "  Now  I  am  a  wreck,  a  wreck  !  " 

"  I  conceive,  sir,  that  this  will  annoy  you  ;  but  how  can  it 
ruin  you  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

'■  What  becomes  of  my  practice  as  a  family  physician  ?  The 
practice  is  not  now  what  it  was,  between  ourselves,  Philip,  and 
the  expenses  greater  than  you  imagine.  I  have  made  unlucky 
speculations.  If  you  count  upon  much  increase  of  wealth  from 
me,  my  boy,  you  will  be  disappointed  ;  though  you  were  never 
mercenary,  no,  never.  But  the  story  bruited  about  by  this  ras- 
cal, of  a  physician  of  eminence  engaged  in  two  marriages,  do 


23: 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


you  suppose  my  ri\als  won't  liear  it,  and  take  advantage  of  it 
— my  patients  liear  it,  and  avoid  me  ?  " 

"  Make  terms  with  the  man  at  once,  then,  sir,  and  silence 
him." 

"  To  make  terms  with  a  gambler  is  impossible.  My  purse 
is  always  there  open  for  him  to  thrust  his  hand  into  when  he 
loses.  No  man  can  withstand  such  a  temptation.  I  am  glad 
you  have  never  fallen  into  it.  I  have  quarrelled  with  you  some- 
times for  living  with  people  below  your  rank  :  perhaps  you  were 
right,  and  I  was  wrong.  I  have  liked,  always  did,  I  don't  dis- 
guise it,  to  live  with  persons  of  station.  And  these,  when  I 
was  at  the  University,  taught  me  play  and  extravagance  ;  and 
in  the  world  haven't  helped  me  much.  Who  would  ?  Who 
would  ?  "  and  the  doctor  relapsed  into  meditation, 

A  little  catastrophe  presently  occurred,  after  which  Mr. 
Philip  Firmin  told  me  the  substance  of  this  story.  He  de- 
scribed his  father's  long  acquiescence  in  Hunt's  demands,  and 
sudden  resistance  to  them,  and  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the 
change.  I  did  not  tell  my  friend  in  express  terms,  but  I  fan- 
cied I  could  account  for  the  change  of  behavior.  Dr.  Firmin, 
in  his  interviews  with  Caroline,  had  had  his  mind  set  at  rest 
about  one  part  of  his  danger.  The  doctor  need  no  longer  fear 
the  charge  of  a  double  marriage.  The  Little  Sister  resigned 
her  claims  past,  present,  future. 

If  a  gentleman  is  sentenced  to  be  hung,  I  wonder  is  it  a 
matter  of  comfort  to  him  or  not  to  know  beforehand  the  day  of 
the  operation  ?  Hunt  would  take  his  revenge.  WHien  and  how  ? 
Dr.  Firmin  asked  himself.  Nay,  possibly,  you  will  have  to  learn 
that  this  eminent  practitioner  walked  about  with  more  than 
danger  hanging  imminent  over  him.  Perhaps  it  was  a  rope : 
perhaps  it  was  a  sword  :  some  weapon  of  execution,  at  any  rate, 
as  we  frequently  may  see.  A  day  passes  :  no  assassin  darts  at 
the  doctor  as  he  threads  the  dim  opera-colonnade  passage  on 
his  way  to  his  club.  A  week  goes  by  :  no  stiletto  is  plunged 
into  his  well-wadded  breast  as  he  steps  from  his  carriage  at 
some  noble  patient's  door.  Philip  says  he  never  knew  his 
father  more  pleasant,  easy,  good-humored,  and  affable  than 
during  this  period,  when  he  must  have  felt  that  a  danger  was 
hanging  over  him  of  which  his  son  at  this  time  had  no  idea.  I 
dined  in  Old  Parr  Street  once  in  this  memorable  period  (mem- 
orable it  seemed  to  me  from  immediately  subsequent  events). 
Never  was  the  dinner  better  served  :  the  wine  more  excellent  : 
the  guests  and  conversation  more  gravely  respectable  than  at 
this  entertainment ;  and  my  neighbor  remarked  with  pleasure 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  233 

how  the  father  and  son  seemed  to  be  on  much  better  terms  than 
ordinary.  The  doctor  addressed  Philip  pointedly  once  or  twice  ; 
alluded  to  his  foreign  travels,  spoke  of  his  mother's  family — it 
was  most  gratifying  to  see  the  pair  together.  ]Jay  after  day 
passes  so.  The  enemy  has  disappeared.  At  least,  the  lining 
of  his' dirty  hat  is  no  longer  visible  on  the  broad  marble  table  of 
Dr.  Firmin's  hall. 

But  one  day — it  may  be  ten  days  after  the  quarrel — a  little 
messenger  comes  to  Philip,  and  says,  "  Philip  dear,  I  am  sure 
there  is  something  wrong ;  that  horrible  Hunt  has  been  here 
with  a  very  quiet,  soft-spoken  old  gentleman,  and  they  have  been 
going  on  with  my  poor  pa  about  my  wrongs  and  his — his,  indeed ! 
— and  they  have  worked  him  up  to  believe  that  somebody  has 
cheated  his  daughter  out  of  a  great  fortune  ;  and  who  can  that 
somebody  be  but  your  father  ?  And  whenever  they  see  me 
coming,  papa  and  that  horrid  Hunt  go  off  to  the  'Admiral 
Byng  : '  and  one  night  when  pa  came  home  he  said, '  Bless  you, 
bless  you,  my  poor,  innocent,  injured  child ;  and  blessed  you 
will  be,  mark  a  fond  father's  words  ! '  They  are  scheming 
something  against  Philip  and  Philip's  father.  Mr.  Bond  the 
soft-spoken  old  gentleman's  name  is  :  and  twice  there  has  been 
a  Mr.  Walls  to  inquire  if  Mr.  Hunt  was  at  our  house." 

"  Mr.  Bond  t — Mr.  Walls  ? — A  gentleman  of  the  name  of 
Bond  was  uncle  Twysden's  attorney.  An  old  gentleman,  with 
a  bald  head,  and  one  eye  bigger  than  the  other  ?  " 

"  Well,  this  old  man  has  one  smaller  than  the  other,  I  do 
think,"  said  Caroline.  "  First  man  who  came  was  Mr.  Walls — 
a  rattling  young  fashionable  chap,  always  laughing,  talking 
about  theatres,  operas,  every  thing — came  home  from  the 
'  Byng  '  along  with  pa  and  his  new  friend — oh  !  I  do  hate  him, 
that  man,  that  Hunt ! — then  he  brought  the  old  man,  this  Mr. 
Bond.  What  are  they  scheming  against  you,  Philip  ?  I  tell 
you  this  matter  is  all  about  you  and  your  father." 

Years  and  years  ago,  in  the  poor  mother's  lifetime,  Philip 
remembered  an  outbreak  of  wrath  on  his  father's  part,  who 
called  uncle  Twysden  a  swindling  miser,  and  this  very  Mr.  Bond 
a  scoundrel  who  deserved  to  be  hung,  for  interfering  in  some 
way  in  the  management  of  a  part  of  the  property  which  Mrs. 
Twysden  and  her  sister  inherited  from  their  own  mother.  That 
quarrel  had  been  made  up,  as  such  quarrels  are.  The  brothers- 
in-law  had  continued  to  mistrust  each  other  ;  but  there  was  no 
reason  why  the  feud  should  descend  to  the  children  ;  and 
Philip  and  his  aunt,  and  one  of  her  daughters  at  least,  were  on 
good  terms  together.     Philip's  uncle's  lawyers  engaged  with 


234  ^-^^^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

father's  debtor  and  enemy  against  ])r.  Firmin  :  the  alliance 
boded  no  good. 

"  I  won't  tell  you  what  I  think,  Philip,"  said  the  father. 
"  You  are  fond  of  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  for  ev " 

"  For  ever,  of  course  !  At  least  until  we  change  our*  mind, 
or  one  of  us  grows  tried,  or  fintls  a  better  mate." 

"Ah,  sir!"  cries  Philip,  but  suddenly  stops  in  his  remon- 
strance. 

"What  were  you  going  to  say,  Philip,  and  why  do  you 
pause  ? " 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  father,  if  I  might  without  offending, 
that  I  think  you  judge  hardly  of  women.  I  know  two  who 
have  been  very  faithful  to  you." 

"  And  I  a  traitor  to  both  of  them.  Yes  ;  and  my  remorse, 
Philip,  my  remorse  !  "  says  his  father  in  his  deepest  tragedy 
voice,  clutching  his  hand  over  a  heart  that  I  believe  beat  very 
coolly.  But,  psha  !  why  am  I,  Philip's  biographer,  going  out  of 
the  way  to  abuse  Philip's  papa.?  Is  not  the  threat  of  bigamy 
and  exposure  enough  to  disturb  any  man's  equanimity?  I  say 
again,  suppose  there  is  another  sword — a  rope,  if  you  will  so 
call  it— hanging  over  the  head  of  our  Damocles  of  Old  Parr 
Street?  *  *  *  *  Howbeit,  the  father  and  the  son  met  and 
parted  in  these  days  with  unusual  gentleness  and  cordiality. 
And  these  were  the  last  days  in  which  they  were  to  meet  to- 
gether. Nor  could  Philip  recall  without  satisfaction,  after- 
wards, that  the  hand  which  he  took  was  pressed  and  given  with 
a  real  kindness  and  cordiality. 

Why  were  these  the  last  days  son  and  father  were  to  pass 
together?  Dr.  Firmin  is  still  alive.  Philip  is  a  very  tolerably 
prosperous  gentleman.  He  and  his  father  parted  good  friends, 
and  it  is  the  biographer's  business  to  narrate  how  and  where- 
fore. When  Philip  told  his  father  that  Messrs.  Bond  and 
Selby,  his  uncle  Twysden's  attorneys,  were  suddenly  interested 
about  Mr.  Brandon  and  his  affairs,  the  father  instantly  guessed, 
though  the  son  was  too  simple  as  yet  to  •  understand,  how  it 
was  that  these  gentlemen  interfered.  If  Mr.  Brandon-Firmin's 
marriage  with  Miss  Ringwood  was  null,  her  son  was  illegiti- 
mate, and  her  fortune  went  to  her  sister.  Painful  as  such  a 
duty  might  be  to  such  tender-hearted  people  as  our  Twysden 
acquaintances  to  deprive  a  dear  nephew  of  his  fortune,  yet, 
after  all,  duty  is  duty,  and  a  parent  must  sacrifice  everything 
for  justice  and  his  own  children.  "  Had  I  been  in  such  a  case," 
Talbot  Twysden    subsequently  and   repeatedly  declared,    "I 


O.V  JIIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  IVORLD. 


235 


shoukl  never  have  been  easy  a  moment  if  I  thought  I  possessed 
wrongfully  a  beloved  nephew's  property.  I  could  not  have 
slept  in  peace ;  I  could  not  have  shown  my  face  at  my  own 
club,  or  to  my  own  conscience,  had  I  the  weight  of  such  an  in- 
justice on  my  mind."  In  a  word,  when  he  found  that  there 
was  a  chance  of  annexing  Philip's  share  of  the  property  to  his 
own,  Twysden  saw  clearly  that  his  duty  was  to  stand  by  his  own 
wife  and  children. 

The  information  upon  which  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq.,  acted, 
was  brought  to  him  at  his  office  by  a  gentleman  in  dingy  black, 
who,  after  a  long  interview  with  him,  accompanied  him  to  his 
lawyer,  Mr.  Bond,  before  mentioned.  Here,  in  South  Square, 
Gray's  Inn,  the  three  gentlemen  held  a  consultation,  of  which 
the  results  began  quickly  to  show  themselves.  Messrs.  Bond 
and  Selby  had  an  exceedingly  lively,  cheerful,  jovial,  and  intel- 
ligent confidential  clerk,  who  combined  business  and  pleasure 
with  the  utmost  affability,  and  was  acquainted  with  a  thousand 
queer  things,  and  queer  histories  about  queer  people  in  this 
town ;  who  lent  money  ;  who  wanted  money ;  who  was  in  debt : 
and  who  was  outrunning  the  constable  ;  whose  diamonds  were 
in  pawn  ;  whose  estates  were  over-mortgaged  ;  who  was  over- 
building himself ;  who  was  casting  eyes  of  longing  at  what 
pretty  opera  dancer — about  races,  fights,  bill  brokers,  quicquid 
aguiit  homitics.  This  Tom  Walls  had  a  deal  of  information, 
and  imparted  it  so  as  to  make  you  die  of  laughing. 

The  Reverend  Tufton  Hunt  brought  this  jolly  fellow  first  to 
the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  where  his  amiability  won  all  hearts  at 
the  club.  At  the  "  Byng "  it  was  not  very  difficult  to  gain 
Captain  Gann's  easy  confidence.  And  this  oldmanw^as,  in  the 
course  of  a  very  trifling  consumption  of  rum-and-water,  brought 
to  see  that  his  daughter  had  been  the  object  of  a  wicked  con- 
spiracy, and  was  the  rightful  and  most  injured  wife  of  a  man 
who  ought  to  declare  her  fair  fame  before  the  world,  and  put 
her  in  possession  of  a  portion  of  his  great  fortune. 

A  great  fortune  ?  How  great  a  fortune  ?  Was  it  three 
hundred  thousand,  say  ?  Those  doctors,  many  of  them,  had 
fifteen  thousand  a-year.  Mr.  Walls  (who  perhaps  knew  better) 
was  not  at  liberty  to  say  what  the  fortune  was  :  but  it  was  a  shame 
that  Mrs.  Brandon  was  kept  out  of  her  rights,  that  was  clear. 

Old  Gann's  excitement,  when  this  matter  was  first  broached 
to  him  (under  vows  of  profound  secrecy)  was  so  intense  that 
his  old  reason  tottered  on  its  rickety  old  throne.  He  wellnigh 
burst  with  longing  to  speak  upon  this  mystery.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Oves,  the  esteemed  landlord  and  lady  of  the  "Byng,"  never 


236  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rillLIP 

saw  him  so  excited.  He  had  a  great  opinion  of  the  judgment 
of  his  friend,  Mr.  Ridley  ;  in  fact,  he  must  have  gone  to  Bedlam, 
unless  he  had  talked  to  somebody  on  this  most  nefarious  trans- 
action, which  might  make  the  blood  of  every  Briton  curdle  with 
iiorror — as  he  was  free  to  say. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley  was  of  a  much  cooler  temperament,  and  al- 
together a  more  cautious  person.  The  doctor  rich  ?  He 
wished  to  tell  no  secrets,  nor  to  meddle  in  no  gentleman's  af- 
fairs :  but  he  have  heard  very  different  statements  regarding 
Dr.  Firmin's  affairs. 

When  dark  hints  about  treason,  wicked  desertion,  rights 
denied,  "  and  a  great  fortune  which  you  are  kep'  out  of,  my 
poor  Caroline,  by  a  rascally  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  you  are  ; 
and  1  always  mistrusted  him,  from  the  moment  I  saw  him,  and 
said  to  your  mother,  '  Emily,  that  Brandon  is  a  bad  fellow, 
Brandon  is;'  and  bitterly,  bitterly  I've  rued  ever  receiving  him 
under  my  roof."  When  speeches  of  this  nature  were  made  to 
Mrs.  Caroline,  strange  to  say,  the  little  lady  made  light  of  them. 
"  Oil,  nonsense,  Pa  !  Don't  be  bringing  that  sad  old  story  up 
again.  I  have  suffered  enough  from  it  already.  If  Mr.  F.  left 
me,  he  wasn't  the  only  one  who  flung  me  away  ;  and  I  have 
been  able  to  live,  thank  mercy,  through  it  all." 

This  was  a  hard  hit,  and  not  to  be  parried.  The  truth  is, 
that  when  poor  Caroline,  deserted  by  her  husband,  had  come 
back,  in  wretchedness,  to  her  father's  door,  the  man,  and  the 
wife  who  then  ruled  him,  had  thought  fit  to  thrust  her  away. 
And  she  had  forgiven  them :  and  had  been  enabled  to  heap  a 
rare  quantity  of  coals  on  that  old  gentleman's  head. 

When  the  Captain  remarked  his  daughter's  indifference  and 
unwillingness  to  reopen  this  painful  question  of  her  sham 
marriage  with  Firmin,  his  wrath  was  moved,  and  his  suspicion 
excited.  "Ha!"  says  he,  "have  this  man  been  a  tampering 
with  you  again  ?  " 

_ "  Nonsense,  Pa  I  "  once  more  says  Caroline.  "  I  tell  you, 
it  is  this  fine-talking  lawyers'  clerk  has  been  tampering  with 
you.  You're  made  a  tool  of,  Pa  !  and  you've  been  made  a  tool 
of  all  your  life  !  " 

"  Well,  now,  upon  my  honor,  my  good  madam,"  interposes 
Mr.  Walls. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  sir!  I  don't  want  any  lawyers'  clerks 
to  meddle  in  my  business  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon,  very  briskly. 
"I  don't  know  what  you're  come  about.  I  don't  want  to  know, 
and  I'm  most  certain  it  is  for  no  good." 

I  suppose  It  was  the  ill  success  of  his  ambassador  that 


ON-  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  237 

brought  Mr.  Bond  himself  to  Thornhaugh  Street ;  and  a  more 
kind,  fatherly,  little  man  never  looked  than  Mr.  I5ond,  although 
he  may  have  had  one  eye  smaller  than  the  other.  "  What  is 
this,  my  dear  madam,  I  hear  from  my  confidential  clerk,  Mr. 
Walls  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  Little  Sister.  "  You  refuse  to  give 
him  3^our  confidence  because  he  is  only  a  clerk  ?  I  wonder 
whether  you  will  accord  it  to  me  as  a  principal  ?  " 

"  She  may,  sir,  she  may — every  confidence  !  "  says  the  Cap- 
tain, laying  his  hand  on  that  snuffy  satin  waistcoat  which  all 
his  friends  so  long  admired  on  him.  "  She  might  have  spoken 
to  Mr.  Walls." 

"  Mr.  Walls  is  not  a  family  man.  I  am.  I  have  children  at 
home,  Mrs.  Brandon,  as  old  as  you  are,"  says  the  benevolent 
Bond.     I  would  have  justice  done  them,  and  for  you  too." 

"You're  very  good  to  take  so  much  trouble  about  me  all  of 
a  sudden,  to  be  sure,"  says  Mrs.  Brandon,  demurely.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  don't  do  it  for  nothing." 

"  I  should  not  require  much  fee  to  help  a  good  woman  to 
her  rights  ;  and  a  lady  I  don't  think  needs  much  persuasion  to 
be  helped  to  her  advantage,"  remarks  Mr.  Bond. 

"That  depends  who  the  helper  is." 

"  Well,  if  I  can  do  you  no  harm,  and  help  you  possibly  to  a 
name,  to  a  fortune,  to  a  high  place  in  the  world,  I  don't  think 
you  need  be  frightened.  I  don't  look  very  wicked  or  verj' 
artful,  do  I !  " 

"Many  is  that  don't  look  so.  I've  learned  as  much  as  that 
about  you  gentlemen,"  remarks  Mrs.  Brandon, 

"You  have  been  wronged  by  one  man,  and  doubt  all." 

"  Not  all.     Some,  sir !  " 

"  Doubt  about  me  if  I  can  by  any  possibility  injure  you. 
But  how  and  why  should  I  ?  Your  good  father  knows  what 
has  brought  me  here.  I  have  no  secret  from  him.  Have  I, 
Mr.  Gann,  or  Captain  Gann,  as  I  have  heard  you  addressed  ? " 

"Mr.,  sir — plain  Mr. — No,  sir;  your  conduct  have  been 
most  open,  honorable,  and  like  a  gentleman.  Neither  would 
you,  sir,  do  aught  to  disparage  Mrs.  Brandon  ;  neither  would  I, 
her  father.  No  ways,  I  think,  would  a  parent  do  harm  to  his 
own  child.  May  I  offer  you  any  refreshment,  sir  ?  "  and  a 
shaky,  a  dingy,  but  a  hospitable  hand,  is  laid  upon  the  glossy 
cupboard,  in  which  Mrs.  Brandon  keeps  her  modest  little  store 
of  strong  waters. 

"  Not  one  drop,  thank  you  !  You  trust  me,  I  think,  more 
than  Mrs.  Firm — I  beg  your  pardon — Mrs.  Brandon,  is  disposed 
to  do  " 


23S  THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILIP 

At  the  utterance  of  that  monosyllable  Finn  Caroline  be- 
came so  white,  and  trembled  so,  that  her  interlocutor  stopped, 
rather  alarmed  at  the  effect  of  his  word — his  word  ! — his  syl- 
lable of  a  word. 

The  old  lawyer  recovered  himself  with  much  grace. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said  ;  "  I  know  your  wrongs  ;  I 
know  your  most  melancholy  history;  I  know  your  name,  and 
was  going  to  use  it,  but  it  seemed  to  renew  painful  recollections 
to  you,  which  I  would  not  needlessly  recall. 

Captain  Gann  took  out  a  snuffy  pocket-handkerchief,  wiped 
two  red  eyes  and  a  shirt-front,  ancl  winked  at  the  attorney,  and 
gasped  in  a  pathetic  manner, 

"  You  know  my  story  and  name,  sir,  who  are  a  stranger  to 
me.  Have  you  told  this  old  gentleman  all  about  me  and  my 
affairs,  pa  ?  "  asks  Caroline,  with  some  asperity.  "  Have  you 
told  him  that  my  ma  never  gave  me  a  word  of  kindness — that  I 
toiled  for  you  and  her  like  a  servant — and  when  I  came  back  to 
you,  after  being  deceived  and  deserted,  that  you  and  ma  shut 
the  door  in  my  face  ?  You  did  !  you  did  !  I  forgi\-e  you  ;  but 
a  hundred  thousand  billion  years  can't  mend  that  injury,  father, 
while  you  broke  a  poor  child's  heart  with  it  that  day  !  My  pa 
has  told  you  all  this,  Mr.  What's-your-name  ?  I'm  s'prized  he 
didn't  find  something  pleasanter  to  talk  about,  I'm  sure  ! " 

"  My  love  !  "  interposed  the  captain. 

"  Pretty  love  !  to  go  and  tell  a  stranger  in  a  public-house, 
and  ever  so  many  there  besides,  I  suppose,  your  daughter's  mis- 
fortunes, pa.     Pretty  love  !     That's  what  I've  had  from  you  ! '' 

"  Not  a  soul,  on  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  except  me  and 
Mr.  Walls." 

"  Then  what  do  you  come  to  talk  about  me  at  all  for  ?  and 
what  scheme  on  hearth  are  you  driving  at  ?  and  what  brings  this 
old  man  here  ? "  cries  the  landlady  of  Thornhaugh  Street, 
stamping  her  foot. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  frankly,  my  good  lady  ?  I  called  you  Mrs. 
Firmin  now,  because,  on  my  honor  and  word,  I  believe  such  to 
be  your  rightful  name — because  you  arc  the  lawful  wife  of 
George  Brand  Firmin.  If  such  be  your  lawful  name,  others 
bear  it  who  have  no  right  to  bear  it — and  inherit  property  to 
which  they  can  lay  no  just  claim.  In  the  year  1827,  you,  Caro- 
line Gann,  a  child  of  sixteen,  were  married  by  a  clergyman 
whom  you  know,  to  George  Prand  Firmin,  calling  himself 
George  Prandon.  He  was  guilty  of  decei\ing  you  ;  but  you 
were  guity  of  no  deceit.  ?Ie  was  a  hardened  and  wily  man  ; 
but  you  were   an  imiocent  child   out  of  a  schoolroom.     And 


ON  JUS  IV AY  TI/KOUCN/  THE    WORLD. 


239 


though  he  thought  the  marriage  was  not  binding  upon  him, 
binding  it  is  by  Act  of  Parliament  and  judges'  decision  ;  and 
you  are  as  assuredly  George  Firmin's  wife,  madam,  as  Mrs, 
Bond  is  mine  !. " 

"You  have  been  cruelly  injured,  Caroline,"  says  the  Captain, 
wagging  his  old  nose  over  his  handkerchief. 

Caroline  seemed  to  be  very  well  versed  in  the  law  of  the 
transaction.  "  You  mean,  sir,"  she  said  slowl}',  "that  if  me  and 
Mr.  Brandon  was  married  to  each  other,  he  knowing  that  he  was 
only  playing  at  marriage,  and  me  believing  that  it  was  all  for 
good,  we  are  really  married." 

"  LTndoubtedly  you  are,  madam — m}''  client  has — that  is,  I 
have  liad  advice  on  the  point." 

"  But  if  we  both  knew  that  it  was — was  only  a  sort  of  a  mar- 
riage— an  irregular  marriage,  you  know  ?  " 

"  Then  the  Act  says  that  to  all  intents  and  purposes  the 
marriage  is  null  and  void." 

"  But  you  didn't  know,  my  poor  innocent  child  !  "  cries  Mr. 
Gann.  "  How  should  you  ?  How  old  was  you?  She  was  a 
child  in  the  nursery,  Mr.  Bond,  when  the  villain  inveigled  her 
away  from  her  poor  old  father.  She  knew  nothing  of  irregular 
marriages." 

"  Of  course  she  didn't,  the  poor  creature,"  cries  the  old  gen- 
tlemen, rubbing  his  hands  together  with  perfect  good-humor. 
*'  Poor  young  thing,  poor  young  thing  !  " 

As  he  was  speaking,  Caroline,  very  very  pale  and  still,  was 
sitting  looking  at  Ridley's  sketch  of  Philip,  which  hung  in  her 
little  room.  Presently  she  turned  round  on  the  attorney,  fold- 
ing her  little  hands  over  her  work. 

"  Mr.  Bond,"  she  said,  "girls,  though  they  may  be  ever  so 
young,  know  more  than  some  folks  fancy.  I  was  more  than  six- 
teen when  that — that  business  happened.  I  wasn't  happy  at 
home,  and  eager  to  get  away.  I  knew  that  a  gentleman  of  his 
rank  wouldn't  be  likely  really  to  marry  a  poor  Cinderella  out  of 
a  lodging-house,  like  me.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  I — I  knev/ 
it  was  no  marriage — never  thought  it  was  a  marriage — not  for 
good,  you  know." 

And  she  folds  her  little  hands  together  as  she  utters  the 
words,  and  I  dare  say  once  more  looks  at  Philip's  portrait. 

"  Gracious  goodness,  madam,  you  must  be  under  some 
error  !  "  cries  the  attorney.  "  How  should  a  child  like  you  know 
that  the  marriage  was  irregular?" 

"  Because  I  had  no  lines  !  "  cries  Claroline  quickh'.  '"  Never 
asked  for  none  !     And  our  maid  we  had  then  said  to  me, '  Miss 


2^C>  ^'//f-  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Carry,  where's  your  lines  ?  And  it's  no  good  without.'  And  1 
knew  it  wasn't !  And  I'm  ready  to  go  before  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor to-morrow  and  say  so  !  "  cries  Caroline,  to  the  bewilder- 
ment of  her  father  and  her  cross-examinant. 

"  Pause,  pause  !  my  good  madam  !  "  exclaims  the  meek  old 
gentleman,  rising  from  his  chair. 

"  Go  and  tell  this  to  them  as  sent  you,  sir  !  "  cries  Caroline, 
very  imperiously,  leaving  the  lawyer  amazed,  and  her  father's 
face  in  a  bewilderment,  over  which  we  will  fling  his  snuffy  old 
pocket-handkerchief. 

"If  such  is  unfortunately  the  case — if  you  actually  mean  to 
abide  by  this  astonishing  confession — which  deprives  you  of  a 
high  place  in  society — and — and  casts  down  the  hope  we  had 
formed  of  redressing  your  injured  reputation — I  have  nothing 
for  it !  I  take  my  leave,  madam  !  Good  morning,  Mr.  Hum  ! 
— Mr.  Gann  !  "  And  the  old  lawyer  walks  out  of  the  Little 
Sister's  room. 

"  She  won't  own  to  the  marriage  !  She  is  fond  of  some  one 
else — the  little  suicide  !  "  thinks  the  old  lawyer,  as  he  clatters 
down  the  street  to  a  neighboring  house,  where  his  anxious  prin- 
cipal was  in  waiting.     "  She's  fond  of  some  one  else  !  " 

Yes.  But  the  some  one  else  whom  Caroline  loved  was 
Brand  Firmin's  son  :  and  it  was  to  save  Philip  from  ruin  that 
the  poor  Little  Sister  chose  to  forget  her  marriage  to  his  father. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

LOVE   ME   LOVE   MV    DOG. 


Whilst  the  battle  is  raging,  the  old  folks  and  ladies  peep 
over  the  battlements,  to  watch  the  turns  of  tlie  combat,  and  the 
behavior  of  the  knights.  To  princesses  in  old  days,  whose 
lovely  hands  were  to  be  bestowed  upon  the  conqueror,  it  must 
have  been  a  matter  of  no  small  interest  to  know  whether  the 
slim  )oung  champion  with  the  lovely  eyes  on  the  milk  white 
steed  should  vanquish,  or  the  dumpy,  elderly,  square-should- 
ered, squinting,  carroty  whiskerando  of  a  warrior  who  was  lay- 
ing about  him  so  savagely  ;  and  so  in  this  battle,  on  the  issue 
of  which  depended  the  keeping  or  losing  of  poor  Philip's  inheri- 
tance, there   were  several    non-combatants  deeply  interested. 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


241 


Or  suppose  we  withdraw  the  chivalrous  simile  (as  in  fact  the 
conduct  and  views  of  certain  parties  engaged  in  the  matter 
were  anything  but  what  we  call  chivalrous),  and  imagine  a  wily 
old  monkey  who  engages  a  cat  to  take  certain  chestnuts  out  of 
the  fire,  and  pussy  putting  her  paw  through  the  bars,  seizing 
the  nut  and  then  dropping  it  ?  Jacko  is  disappointed  and 
angry,  shows  his  sharp  teeth,  and  bites  if  he  dares.  When  the 
attorney  went  down  to  do  battle  for  Philip's  patrimony,  some 
of  those  who  wanted  it  were  spectators  of  the  fight,  and  lurking 
up  a  tree  hard  by.  When  Mr.  Bond  came  forward  to  try  and 
seize  Phil's  chestnuts,  there  was  a  wily  old  monkey  who  thrust 
the  cat's  paw  out,  and  proposed  to  gobble  up  the  smoking  prize. 

If  you  have  ever  been  at  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  you  know, 
my  dear  madam,  that  the  parlor  where  the  club  meets  is  just 
behind  Mrs.  Oves's  bar,  so  that  by  lifting  up  the  sash  of  the 
window  which  communicates  between  the  two  apartments,  that 
good-natured  woman  may  put  her  face  into  the  club-room,  and 
actually  be  one   of  the  society.     Sometimes  for  company,  old 

Mr.  Ridley  goes  and  sits  with  Mrs.  O in  her  bar,  and  reads 

the  paper  there.  He  is  slow  at  his  reading.  The  long  words 
puzzle  the  worthy  gentleman.  As  he  has  plenty  of  time  to 
spare,  he  does  not  grudge  it  to  the  study  of  his  paper. 

On  the  day  when  Mr.  Bond  went  to  persuade  Mrs.  Brandon 
in  Thornhaugh  Street  io  claim  Dr.  Firmin  for  her  husband,  and 
to  disinherit  poor  Philip,  a  little  gentleman  wrapt  most  solemnly 
and  mysteriously  in  a  great  cloak  appeared  at  the  bar  of  the 
"  Admiral  Byng,"  and  said  in  an  aristocratic  manner,  "  You 
have  a  parlor,  show  me  to  it."      And  being  introduced  to  the 

parlor,  (where  there  are  fine  pictures  of  Oves,  Mrs.  0 ,  and 

"  Spotty-nose,"  their  favorite  defunct  bull-dog,)  sat  down  and 
called  for  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a  newspaper. 

The  civil  and  intelligent  potboy  of  the  "  Byng  "  took  the 
party  The  Advertiser  of  yesterday  (which  to-day's  paper  was  in 
'and)  and  when  the  gentleman  began  to  swear  over  the  old 
paper,  Frederic  gave  it  as  his  opinion  to  his  mistress  that  the 
new  comer  was  a  harbitrary  gent, — as,  indeed,  he  was,  with  the 
comission,  perhaps,  of  a  single  letter ;  a  man  who  bullied 
ever}'body  who  would  submit  to  be  bullied.  In  fact,  it  was  our 
friend  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq.,  Commissioner  of  the  Powder  and 
Pomatum  Office ;  and  I  leave  those  who  know  him  to  say 
whether  he  is  arbitrary  or  not. 

To  him  presently  came  that  bland  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Bond, 
who  also  asked  for  a  parlor  and  some  sherr}'-and-water  ;  and 
this  is  how  Philip  and  his  veracious  and  astute  biographer 


242 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


came  to  know  for  a  certainty  that  clear  uncle  Talbot  was  the 
person  who  wished  to — to  have  Philip's  chestnuts. 

Mr.  Bond  and  Mr.  Twysden  had  been  scarcely  a  minute 
together,  when  such  a  storm  of  imprecations  came  clattering 
through  the  glass  window  which  communicates  with  Mrs.  Oves's 
bar,  that  I  dare  say  they  made  the  jugs  and  tumblers  clatter  on 
the  shelves,  and  Mr.  Ridley,  a  very  modest-spoken  man,  reading 
his  paper,  lay  it  down  with  a  scared  face,  and  say — ''  \\^ell,  I 
never."     Nor  did  he  often,  I  dare  to  say. 

This  volley  was  fired  by  Talbot  Twysden,  in  consequence  of 
his  rage  at  the  news  which  Mr.  Bond  brought  him. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bond  ;  well,  Mr.  Bond  !  What  does  she  say  ?  " 
he  asked  of  his  emissary. 

"  She  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  business,  Mr.  Twys- 
den. ^^x  can't  touch  it ;  and  I  don't  see  how  we  can  mo\-e 
her.  She  denies  the  marriage  as  much  as  Firmin  does  ;  says 
she  knew  it  was  a  mere  sham  when  the  ceremony  was  per- 
formed." 

"  Sir,  you  didn't  bribe  her  enough,"  shrieked  Mr.  Twysden. 
"  You  have  bungled  this  business  ;  by  George  you  have,  sir." 

"  Go  and  do  it  yourself,  sir,  if  you  are  not  ashamed  to 
appear  in  it,"  says  the  lawyer.  *'  You  don't  suppose  I  did  it 
because  I  liked  it ;  or  want  to  take  that  poor  young  fellow's 
inheritance  from  him,  as  you  do." 

"  I  wish  justice  and  the  law,  sir.  If  I  were  wrongfully  de- 
taining his  property  I  would  give  it  up.  I  would  be  the  first 
to  gi\e  it  up.  I  desire  justice  and  law,  and  employ  you  be- 
cause you  are  a  law  agent.      Are  you  not  ?  " 

"  And  I  have  been  on  your  errand,  and  shall  send  in  my 
bill  in  due  time  ;  and  there  will  be  an  end  of  my  connection 
with  you  as  your  law  agent,  Mr.  Twysden,"  cried  the  old  lawyer. 

"  You  know,  sir,  how  badly  Firmin  acted  to  me  in  the  last 
matter." 

"  Faith,  sir,  if  you  ask  my  opinion  as  a  law  agent,  I  don't 
think  there  was  much  to  choose  between  you.  How  much  is 
the  sherry-and-water  .^ — keep  the  change.  Sorry  Fd  no  better 
news  to  bring  you,  Mr.  T.,  and  as  j'ou  are  dissatisfied,  again 
recommend  you  to  employ  another  law  agent," 

"  My  good  sir,  I " 

"  My  good  sir,  I  have  Jiad  other  dealings  with  your  family, 
and  am  no  more  going  to  put  up  with  your  highti-tightiness 
than  1  would  with  Lord  Ringwood's  when  I  was  one  of  his  law 
agents.  I  am  not  going  to  tell  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  that  liis  uncle 
and  aunt  propose  to  ease  him  of  his  property  ;  but  if  anybody 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  243 

else  does — that  good  little  Mrs.  Brandon — or  that  old  goose 
Mr.  What-d'ye-call-um,  her  father — I  don't  suppose  he  will  be 
over  well  pleased.  I  am  speaking  as  a  gentleman  now,  not  as 
a  law  agent.  You  and  your  nephew  had  each  a  half  share  of 
Mr.  Philip  Firmin's  grandfather's  property,  and  you  wanted  it 
all,  that's  the  truth,  and  set  a  law  agent  to  get  it  for  you  ;  and 
swore  at  him  because  he  could  not  get  it  from  its  right  owner. 
And  so,  sir,  I  wish  you  a  good-morning,  and  recommend  you  to 
take  your  papers  to  some  other  agent,  Mr.  Twysden."  And 
with  this,  exit  Mr.  Bond.  And  now,  I  ask  you,  if  that  secret 
could  be  kept  which  was  known  through  a  trembling  glass  door 
to  Mrs.  Oves  of  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  and  to  Mr.  Ridley  the 
father  of  J.  J.,  and  the  obsequious  husband  of  Mrs.  Ridley  ? 
On  that  very  afternoon,  at  tea-time,  Mrs.  Ridley  was  made 
acquainted  by  her  husband  (in  his  noble  and  circumlocutory 
manner)  with  the  conversation  which  he  had  overheard.  It 
was  agreed  that  an  embassy  should  be  sent  to  J.  J.  on  the 
business,  and  his  advice  taken  regarding  it ;  and  J.  J.'s  opinion 
was  that  the  conversation  certainly  should  be  reported  to  Mr. 
Philip  Firmin,  who  might  afterwards  act  upon  it  as  he  should 
think  best. 

What  ?  His  own  aunt,  cousins,  and  uncle  agreed  in  a 
scheme  to  overthrow  his  legitimacy,  and  deprive  him  of  his 
grandfather's  inheritance  ?  It  seemed  impossible.  Big  with 
the  tremendous  news,  Philip  came  to  his  adviser,  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis,  of  the  Temple,  and  told  him  what  had  occurred  on  the 
part  of  father,  uncle,  and  Little  Sister.  Her  abnegation  had 
been  so  noble,  that  you  maybe  sure  Philip  appreciated  it ;  and 
a  tie  of  friendship  was  formed  between  the  young  man  and  the 
little  lady  even  more  close  and  tender  than  that  which  had 
bound  them  previously.  But  the  Twysdens,  his  kinsfolk,  to 
employ  a  lawyer  in  order  to  -rob  him  of  his  inheritance  ! — Oh, 
it  was  dastardly  !  Philip  bawled,  and  stamped,  and  thumped 
his  sense  of  the  wrong  in  his  usual  energetic  manner.  As  for 
his  cousin  Ringwood  Twvsden,  Phil  had  often  entertained  a 
strong  desire  to  wring  his  neck  and  pitch  him  down  stairs. 
"  As  for  Uncle  Talbot :  that  he  is  an  old  pump,  that  he  is  a 
pompous  old  humbug,  and  the  queerest  old  sycophant,  I  grant 
you ;  but  I  couldn't  have  believed  him  guilty  of  this.  And  as 
for  the  girls — oh,  Mrs.  Pendennis,  you  who  are  good,  you  who 
are  kind,  although  you  hate  them,  I  know  you  do — you  can't 
say,  you  won't  say,  that  they  were  in  the  conspiracy  ?  " 

"  But  suppose  Twysden  was  asking  only  for  what  he  con- 
ceives to  be  his  rights  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Pendennis,     "  Had  your 


244  ^^^^^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

fatlier  been  married  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  3-011  would  not  have  been 
Dr.  Firniin's  legitimate  son.  Had  you  not  been  his  legitimate 
son,  you  had  no  right  to  a  half-share  of  your  grandfather's 
property.  Uncle  Talbot  acts  only  the  part  of  honor  and  jus- 
tice in  the  transaction.  He  is  Brutus,  and  he  orders  you  off  to 
death,  with  a  bleeding  heart." 

"And  he  orders  his  family  out  of  the  way,"  roars  Phil,  "so 
that  they  mayn't  be  pained  by  seeing  the  execution  !  I  see  it  all 
now.  I  wish  somebody  would  send  a  knife  through  me  at  once, 
and  put  an  end  to  me.  I  see  it  all  now.  Do  you  know  that 
for  the  last  week  I  have  been  to  Beaunash  Street,  and  found 
nobody  ?  Agnes  had  the  bronchitis,  and  her  mother  was  at- 
tending to  her ;  Blanche  came  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  \ras  as 
cool — as  cool  as  I  have  seen  Lady  Iceberg  be  cool  to  her. 
Then  they  must  go  away  for  change  of  air.  They  have  been 
gone  these  three  days  ;  whilst  Uncle  Talbot  and  that  viper  of  a 
Ringwood  have  been  closeted  with  their  nice  new  friend,  Mr. 

Hunt.      Oh,    conf !      I   beg  your  pardon,  ma'am  ;  but  I 

know  you  always  allow  for  the  energy  of  my  language." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that  Little'  Sister,  Mr.  Firmin.  She 
has  not  been  selfish,  or  had  any  scheme  but  for  your  good," 
remarks  my  wife. 

"  A  little  angel  who  drops  her  h's — a  little  heart,  so  good 
and  tender  that  I  melt  as  I  think  of  it,"  says  Philip,  drawing 
his  big  hand  over  his  eyes.  What  have  men  done  to  get  the 
love  of  some  women  }  We  don't  earn  it ;  we  don't  deserve  it, 
perhaps.  We  don't  return  it.  They  bestow  it  on  us.  I  have 
given  nothing  back  for  all  this  love  and  kindness,  but  I  look  a 
little  like  my  father  of  old  days,  for  whom — for  whom  she  had 
an  attachment.  And  see  now  how  she  would  die  to  serve  me ! 
You  are  wonderful,  women  are  !  your  fidelities  and  your  fickle- 
nesses alike  marvellous.  What  can  any  woman  have  found  to 
adore  in  the  doctor.?  Do  you  think  my  father  could  ever  have 
been  adorable,  Mrs.  Pendennis  ?  And  yet  I  have  heard  my 
poor  mother  say  she  was  obliged  to  marry  him.  She  knew  it 
was  a  bad  match,  but  she  couldn't  resist  it.  In  what  was  my 
father  so  irresistible  ?  He  is  not  to  my  taste.  Between  our 
selves,  I  think  he  is  a well,  never  mind  what." 

"  I  think  we  had  best  not  mind  what  1  "  says  my  wife  with  a 
smile. 

"Quite  right — quite  right ;  only  I  blurt  out  everything  that 
is  on  my  mind.  Can't  keep  it  in,"  cries  Phil,  gnawing  his 
mustachios.  "  If  my  fortune  depended  on  my  silence  I  should 
be  a  beggar,  that's  the  fact.     And,  you  see,  if  you  had  such  a 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THK   WORLD.  245 

father  as  mine,  you  yourself  would  find  il  rather  difficult  to  hold 
your  tongue  about  him.  But  now,  tell  me :  this  ordering  away 
of  the  girls  and  Aunt  Twysden,  whilst  the  little  attack  ujdou  my 
property  is  being  carried  on — isn't  it  queer?" 

"The  question  is  at  an  end,"  said  Mr.  Pendennis.  "You 
are  restored  to  your  atavis  regibus  and  ancestral  honors.  Now 
that  Uncle  Twysden  can't  get  the  property  without  you  ;  have 
courage,  my  boy — he  may  take  it,  along  with  the  encumbrance." 

Poor  Phil  had  not  known — but  some  of  us,  who  are  pretty 
clearsighted  when  our  noble  selves  are  not  concerned,  had  per- 
ceived that  Philip's  dear  aunt  was  playing  fast  and  loose  with 
the  lad,  and  when  his  back  was  turned  was  encouraging  a  richer 
suitor  for  her  daughter. 

Hand  on  heart  I  can  say  of  my  wife,  that  she  meddles  with 
her  neighbors  as  little  as  any  person  I  ever  knew ;  but  when 
treacheries  in  love  affairs  are  in  question,  she  fires  up  at  once, 
and  would  persecute  to  death  almost  the  heartless  male  or 
female  criminal  who  would  break  lo\'e's  sacred  laws.  The  idea 
of  a  man  or  woman  trifling  with  that  holy  compact  awakens  in 
her  a  flame  of  indignation.  In  curtain  confidences  (of  which 
let  me  not  vulgarize  the  arcana)  she  had  given  me  her  mind 
about  some  of  Miss  Twysden's  behavior  with  that  odious  black- 
amoor, as  she  chose  to  call  Captain  Woolcomb,  who,  I  own, 
had  a  very  slight  tinge  of  complexion ;  and  when,  quoting  the 
words  of  Hamlet  regarding  his  father  and  mother,  I  asked, 
"  Could  she  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed,  and  batten  on 
this  Moor  ? "  Mrs.  Pendennis  cried  out  that  this  matter  was  all 
too  serious  for  jest,  and  wondered  how  her  husband  could  make 
word  plays  about  it.  Perhaps  she  has  not  the  exquisite  sense 
of  humor  possessed  by  some  folks  ;  or  is  it  that  she  has  more 
reverence  ?  In  her  creed,  if  not  in  her  church,  marriage  is  a 
sacrament,  and  the  fond  believer  never  speaks  of  it  without 
awe. 

Now,  as  she  expects  both  parties  to  the  marriage  engagement 
to  keep  that  compact  holy,  she  no  more  understands  trifling 
with  it  than  she  could  comprehend  laughing  and  joking  in  a 
church.  She  has  no  patience  with  flirtations  as  they  are  called. 
"  Don't  tell  me,  sir,"  says  the  enthusiast,  "a  light  word  between 
a  man  and  a  married  woman  ought  not  to  be  permitted."  And 
this  is  why  she  is  harder  on  the  woman  than  the  man,  in  cases 
where  such  dismal  matters  happen  to  fall  under  discussion.  A 
look,  a  word  from  a  woman,  she  says,  will  check  a  libertine 
thought  or  word  in  a  man  ;  and  these  cases  might  be  stopped 
at  once  if  the  woman  but  showed  the  slightest  resolution.     She 


246  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

is  thus  more  angry  (I  am  only  mentioning  the  peculiarities,  not 
defending  the  ethics  of  this  individual  moralist) — she  is,  I  say, 
more  angrily  disposed  towards  the  woman  than  the  man  in  such 
delicate  cases ;  and,  I  am  afraid,  considers  that  women  are  for 
the  most  part  only  victims  because  they  choose  to  be  so. 

Now,  we  had  happened  during  this  season  to  be  at  several 
entertainments,  routs,  and  so  forth,  where  poor  Phil,  owing  to 
Ills  unhappy  Bohemian  preferences  and  love  of  tobacco,  &c., 
was  not  present — and  where  we  saw  Miss  Agnes  Twysden 
carrying  on  such  a  game  with  the  tawny  Woolcomb  as  set  Mrs. 
Laura  in  a  tremor  of  indignation.  What  though  Ague's  blue- 
eyed  mamma  sat  near  her  blue-eyed  daughter  and  kept  her  keen 
clear  orbs  perfectly  wide  open  and  cognizant  of  all  that 
happened  ?  So  much  the  worse  for  her,  the  worse  for  both. 
It  was  a  shame  and  a  sin  that  a  Christian  English  mother 
should  suffer  her  daughter  to  deal  lightly  with  the  most  holy, 
the  most  awful  of  human  contracts  ;  should  be  preparing  her 
child  who  knows  for  what  after  miser)'  of  mind  and  soul.  Three 
months  ago,  you  saw  how  she  encouraged  poor  Philip,  and  now 
see  her  with  this  mulatto ! 

"Is  he  not  a  man,  and  a  brother,  my  dear.?"  perhaps  at 
this  Mr.  Pendennis  interposes. 

"  Oh,  for  shame.  Pen,  no  levity  on  this — no  sneers  and 
laughter  on  this  the  most  sacred  subject  of  all."  And  here,  I 
dare  say  the  woman  falls  to  caressing  her  own  children  and 
hugging  them  to  her  heart  as  her  manner  was  when  moved. 
Que  voickz  vous  ?  There  are  some  women  in  the  world  to  whom 
love  and  truth  are  all  in  all  here  below.  Other  ladies  there  are 
who  see  the  benefit  of  a  good  jointure,  a  town  and  country 
house,  and  so  forth,  and  who  are  not  so  very  particular  as  to 
the  character,  intellect,  or  complexion  of  gentlemen  who  are  in 
a  position  to  offer  their  dear  girls  these  benefits.  In  fine,  I  say, 
that  regarding  this  blue-eyed  mother  and  daughter,  Mrs.  Laura 
Pendennis  was  in  such  a  state  of  mind  that  she  was  ready  to 
tear  their  blue  eyes  out. 

Nay,  it  was  with  no  litde  difficulty  that  Mrs.  Lauia  could 
be  induced  to  hold  her  tongue  upon  the  matter  and  not  give 
Philip  her  opinion.  "  What .?  "  she  would  ask,  "  the  poor  young 
man  is  to  be  deceived  and  cajoled  ;  to  be  taken  or  left  as  it 
suits  these  people  ;  to  be  made  miserable  for  life  certainly  if 
she  married  him  ;  and  his  friends  are  not  to  dare  to  warn  him  ? 
The  cowards  !  The  cowardice  of  you  men.  Pen,  upon  matters 
of  opinion,  of  you  masters  and  lords  of  creation,  is  really 
despicable,  sir  1     You  dare  not  have  opinions,  or  holding  them 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  IVORLD. 


247 


you  dare  not  declare  tliem  and  act  by  them.  You  compromise 
with  crime  every  day  because  you  think  it  would  be  officious  to 
declare  yourself  and  interfere.  You  are  not  afraid  of  outraging 
morals,  but  of  inflicting  ennui  upon  society,  and  losing  your 
popularity.  You  are  as  cynical  as — as,  what  was  the  name  of 
the  horrid  old  man  who  lived  in  the  tub — Demosthenes  ? — well, 
Diogenes,  then,  and  the  name  does  not  matter  a  pin,  sir.  You 
are  as  cynical,  only  you  wear  fine  ruffled  shirts  and  wristbands, 
and  you  carry  your  lantern  dark.  It  is  not  right  to  '  put  your 
oar  in  '  as  you  say  in  your  jargon  (and  even  your  slang  is  a 
sort  of  cowardice,  sir,  for  you  are  afraid  to  speak  the  feelings 
of  your  heart  : — )  it  is  not  right  to  meddle  and  speak  the  truth, 
not  right  to  rescue  a  poor  soul  who  is  drowning — of  course  not. 
What  call  have  you  fine  gentlemen  of  the  world  to  put  your  oai 
m'i  Let  him  perish  !  What  did  he  in  that  galley?  That  is 
the  language  of  the  world,  baby,  darling.  And,  my  poor,  poor 
child,  when  you  are  sinking,  nobody  is  to  stretch  out  a  hand  to 
save  you  !  "  As  for  that  wife  of  mine,  when  she  sets  forth  the 
maternal  plea,  and  appeals  to  the  exuberant  school  of  phflos- 
ophers,  I  know  there  is  no  reasoning  with  her.  I  retire  to  my 
books,  and  leave  her  to  kiss  out  the  rest  of  the  argument  over 
the  children. 

Philip  did  not  know  the  extent  of  the  obligation  which  he 
owed  to  his  little  friend  and  guardian,  Caroline  ;  but  he  was 
aware  that  he  had  no  better  friend  than  herself  in  the  world  ; 
and  I  dare  say,  returned  to  her,  as  the  wont  is  in  such  bargains 
between  man  and  woman — woman  and  man,  at  least — a  six- 
pence for  that  pure  gold  treasure,  her  sovereign  affection.  I 
suppose  Caroline  thought  her  sacrifice  gave  her  a  little  authority 
to  counsel  Philip  ;  for  she  it  was  who,  I  believe,  first  bid  him  to 
inquire  whether  that  engagement  which  he  had  virtually 
contracted  with  his  cousin  was  likely  to  lead  to  good,  and  was 
to  be  binding  upon  him  but  not  on  her  1  She  brought  Ridley 
to  add  his  doubts  to  her  remonstrances.  She  showed  Philip 
that  not  only  his  uncle's  conduct,  but  his  cousin's,  was  inter- 
ested, and  set  him  to  inquire  into  it  further. 

That  peculiar  form  of  bronchitis  under  which  poor  clear 
Agnes  was  suffering  was  relieved  by  absence  from  London. 
The  smoke,  the  crowded  parties  and  assemblies,  the  late  hours, 
and  perhaps,  the  gloom  of  the  house  in  Beaunash  Street, 
distressed  the  poor  dear  child  ;  and  her  cough  was  very  much 
soothed  by  that  fine,  cutting  east  wind,  which  blows  so  liberally 
along  the  Brighton  clifi^s,  and  which  is  so  good  for  coughs  as 
we  all  know.     But  there  was  one  fault  in  Brighton  which  could 


248  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

not  be  liclped  in  her  bad  case  ;  it  is  too  near  London.  The  air, 
that  char-tered  Ubertinc,  can  blow  down  from  London  quite 
easily  ;  or  people  can  come  from  London  to  Brighton,  bringing 
I  dare  say,  the  insidious  London  fog  along  with  them.  At  any 
rate,  Agnes,  if  she  wished  for  quiet,  poor  thing,  might  have  gone 
farther  and  fared  better.  Why,  if  you  owe  a  tailor  a  bill,  he 
can  run  down  and  present  it  in  a  few  hours.  Vulgar,  incon- 
venient acquaintances  thrust  themselves  upon  you  at  every 
moment  and  corner.  Was  ever  such  a  iohubohii  of  people  as 
there  assembles  ?  Vou  can't  be  tranquil,  if  you  will.  Organs 
pipe  and  scream  without  cease  at  your  w^indows.  Your  name 
is  put  down  in  the  papers  when  you  arrive  ;  and  everybody  meets 
everybody  ever  so  many  times  a  day. 

On  finding  that  his  uncle  had  set  lawyers  to  work,  with  the 
charitable  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  Philip's  property 
was  legitimately  his  own,  Philip  was  a  good  deal  disturbed  in 
mind.  He  could  not  appreciate  that  high  sense  of  moral 
obligation  by  which  Mr.  Twysden  was  actuated.  At  least,  he 
though  that  these  inquiries  should  not  have  been  secretly  set 
a-foot  ;  and  as  he  himself  was  perfectly  open — a  great  deal  too 
open,  perhaps — in  his  words  and  his  actions,  he  was  hard  with 
those  who  attempted  to  hoodwink  or  deceive  him. 

It  could  not  be  ;  ah  !  no,  it  never  could  be,  that  Agnes  the 
pure  and  gentle  was  privy  to  this  conspiracy.  But  then,  how 
very — very  often  of  late  she  had  been  from  home  ;  how  very, 
very  cold  Aunt  Twysden's  shoulder  had  somehow  become. 
Once,  when  he  reached  the  door,  a  fishmonger's  boy  was  leaving 
a  fine  salmon  at  the  kitchen, — a  salmon  and  a  tub  of  ice.  Once, 
twice,  at  five  o'clock,  when  he  called,  a  smell  of  cooking 
pervaded  the  hall, — that  hall  which  culinary  odors  very  seldom 
visited.  Some  of  those  noble  Twysden  dinners  were  on  the 
fapis^  and  Philip  was  not  asked.  Not  to  be  asked  was  no  great 
deprivation  ;  but  who  were  the  guests  .''  To  be  sure,  these  were 
trifies  light  as  air  ;  but  Philip  smelt  mischief  in  the  steam  of 
those  Twysden  dinners.  He  chewed  that  salmon  with  a  bitter 
sauce  as  he  saw  it  sink  down  the  area  steps  and  disappear  with 
its  attendant  lobster  in  the  dark  kitchen  region. 

Yes  ;  eyes  were  somehow  averted  that  used  to  look  into  his 
very  frankly  ;  a  glove  somehow  had  grown  over  a  little  hand 
which  once  used  to  lie  very  comfortably  in  his  broad  palm. 
Was  anybody  else  going  to  seize  it,  and  it  was  going  to  paddle  in 
that  blackamoor's  unblest  fingers  ?  Ah  !  fiends  and  tortures  !  a 
gentleman  may  cease  to  love,  but  does  he  like  a  woman  to  cease 
to  love  him  ?     People  carry  on  ever  so  long  for  fear  of  that  de« 


HAND   AND   GLOVE. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  249 

claration  that  all  is  over.  No  confession  is  more  dismal  to 
make.  The  sun  of  love  has  set.  We  sit  in  the  dark.  I  mean 
you,  dear  madam,  and  Corydon,  or  I  and  Amaryllis  ;  uncom- 
fortably, with  nothing  more  to  say  to  one  another  j  with  the 
night  dew  falling,  and  a  risk  of  catching  cold,  drearily  contem- 
plating the  fading  west,  with  "  the  cold  remains  of  lustre  gone, 
of  fire  long  past  away."  Sink,  fire  of  love  !  Rise,  gentle  moon, 
and  mists  of  chilly  evening.  And  my  good  Madam  Amaryllis, 
let  us  go  home  to  some  tea  and  a  fire. 

So  Philip  determined  to  go  and  seek  his  cousin.  Arrived 
at  his  hotel  (and  if  it  were  the  *  *  I  can't  conceive  Philip 
in  much  better  quarters),  he  had  the  opportunity  of  inspect- 
ing those  delightful  newspaper  arrivals,  a  perusal  of  which  has 
so  often  edified  us  at  Brighton.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penfold,  he 
was  informed,  continued  their  residence.  No.  96,  Horizontal 
Place  :  and  it  was  with  those  guardians  he  knew  his  Agnes  was 
staying.  He  speeds  to  Horizontal  Place.  Miss  Twysden  is  out. 
He  heaves  a  sigh,  and  leaves  a  card.  Has  it  ever  happened  to 
you  to  leave  a  card  at  that  house — that  house  which  was  once 
THE  house — almost  your  own  ;  where  you  were  ever  welcome ; 
where  the  kindest  hand  was  ready  to  grasp  yours,  the  brightest 
eye  to  greet  you  ?  And  now  your  friendship  has  dwindled  away 
to  a  little  bit  of  pasteboard,  shed  once  a  year,  and  poor  dear 
Mrs.  Jones  (it  is  with  J.  you  have  quarrelled)  still  calls  on  the 
ladies  of  your  family  and  slips  her  husband's  ticket  upon  the  hall 
table.  Oh,  life  and  time,  that  it  should  have  come  to  this  ! 
Oh,  gracious  powers  !  Do  you  recall  the  time  when  Arabella 
Thompson  was  Arabella  Briggs  ?  You  call  and  talk  fadaises 
to  her  (at  first  she  is  rather  nervous,  and  has  the  children  in)  ; 
you  talk  rain  and  fine  weather  ;  the  last  novel ;  the  next  party ; 
Thompson  in  the  City?  Yes,  Mr.  Thompson  is  in  the  City. 
He's  pretty  well,  thank  you.  Ah !  Daggers,  ropes,  and 
poisons,  has  it  come  to  this  ?  You  are  talking  about  the 
weather,  and  another's  man's  health,  and  another  man's  chil- 
dren, of  which  she  is  mother,  to  her  ?  Time  was  the  weather 
was  all  a  burning  sunshine,  in  which  you  and  she  basked ;  or  if 
clouds  gathered,  and  a  storm  fell,  such  a  glorious  rainbow 
haloed  round  you,  such  delicious  tears  fell  and  refreshed  you, 
that  the  storm  was  more  ravishing  than  the  calm.  And  now 
another  man's  children  are  sitting  on  her  knee — their  mother's 
knee  ;  and  once  a  year  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Thompson  request 
the  honor  of  Mr.  Brown's  company  at  dinner  ;  and  once  a  year 
you  read  in  T/ig  Times,  "  In  Nursery  Street,  the  wife  of  J. 
Thompson,  Esq.,  of  a  Son."     To  come  to  the  once-beloved  one's 


25° 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


door,  and  find  the  knocker  tied  up  with  a  white  kid  glove,  is 
humiliating — say  what  you  will,  it  is  humiliating. 

Philip  leaves  his  card,  and  walks  on  to  the  Cliff,  and  of 
course,  in  three  minutes,  meets  Clinker.  Indeed  who  ever  went 
to  Brighton  for  half  an  hour  without  meeting  Clinker  ? 

"  Father  pretty  well  ?  His  old  patient.  Lady  (jeminy,  is 
down  here  with  the  children  ;  what  a  number  of  them  there  are, 
to  be  sure  ?  Come  to  make  any  stay  ?  See  your  cousin,  Miss 
Twysden,  is  here  with  the  Penfolds.  Little  party  at  the  Grig- 
sons'  last  night ;  she  looked  uncommonly  well ;  danced  ever  so 
many  times  with  the  Black  Prince,  Woolcomb  of  the  Greens. 
Suppose  I  may  congratulate  you.  Six  thousand  five  hundred  a 
year  now,  and  thirteen  thousand  when  his  grandmother  dies ; 
but  those  negresses  live  for  ever.  I  suppose  the  thing  is  settled. 
I  saw  them  on  the  pier  just  now,  and  Mrs.  Penfold  was  read- 
ing a  book  in  the  arbor.  Book  of  sermons  it  was — pious  wo- 
man, Mrs.  Penfold,  I  dare  say  they  are  on  the  pier  still." 
Striding  with  hurried  steps  Philip  Firmin  makes  for  the  pier. 
The  breathless  Clinker  cannot  keep  alongside  of  his  face.  I 
should  like  to  have  seen  it  when  Clinker  said  that  "  the  thing  " 
was  settled  between  Mrs.  Twysden  and  the  cavalry  gentleman. 

There  were  a  few  nursery  governesses,  maids,  and  children, 
paddling  about  at  the  end  of  the  pier;  and  there  was  a  fat 
woman  reading  a  book  in  one  of  the  arbors — but  no  Agnes,  no 
Woolcomb.  Where  can  they  be  ?  Can  they  be  weighing  each 
other  ?  or  buying  those  mad  pebbles,  which  people  are  known 
to  purchase?  or  having  their  silhouettes  ^ox\Q.\xi  black?  Ha! 
ha !  Woolcomb  would  hardly  have  his  face  done  m  black  ? 
The  idea  would  provoke  odious  comparisons.  I  see  Philip  is 
in  a  dreadfully  bad  sarcastic  humor. 

Up  there  comes  from  one  of  those  trap  doors  which  lead 
down  from  the  pier-head  to  the  green  sea-waves  ever  restlessly 
jumping  below — up  there  conies  a  little  Skye-terrier  dog  with  a 
red  collar,  who  as  soon  as  she  sees  Philip,  sings,  squeaks, 
whines,  runs,  jumps, ////w/j'  up  on  him,  if  T  may  use  the  expres- 
sion, kisses  his  hands,  and  with  eyes,  tongue,  paws,  and  tail 
shows  him  a  thousand  marks  of  welcome  and  affection. 
"  What,  Brownie,  Brownie  !  "  Philip  is  glad  to  see  the  dog,  an 
old  friend  who  has  many  a  time  licked  his  hand  and  bounced 
upon  his  knee. 

The  greeting  over.  Brownie,  wagging  her  tail  with  prodi- 
gious activity,  trots  before  Philip  —  trots  down  an  opening, 
down  the  steps  under  which  the  wa\-es  shimmer  greenly,  and 
into  quite  a  quiet  remote  corner  just  over  the  water,  whence 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


251 


you  may  command  a  most  beautiful  \'ie\v  of  tlic  sea,  the  shore, 
the  Marine  I'arade,  and  tlae  "  Albion  Hotel,"  and  where,  were 
I  five-and-twenty  say,  with  nothing  else  to  do,  I  would  gladly 
pass  a  quarter  of  an  hour  talking  about  "  Glaucus,  or  the 
Wonders  of  the  Deep  "  with  the  object  of  my  affections. 

Here,  amongst  the  labyrinth  of  piles.  Brownie  goes  flouncing 
along  till  she  comes  to  a  young  couple  who  are  looking  at  the 
view  just  described.  In  order  to  view  it  better,  the  young  man 
has  laid  his  hand,  a  pretty  little  hand  most  delicately  gloved, 
on  the  lady's  hand ;  and  Brownie  comes  up  and  muzzles  against 
her,  and  whines  and  talks  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Here's  some- 
body," and  the  lady  says,  "  Down  Brownie,  miss." 

"  It's  no  good,  Agnes,  that  dog,"  says  the  gentleman  (he 
has  very  curly,  not  to  say  woolly  hair,  under  his  natty  little 
hat).  "  I'll  give  you  a  pug  with  a  nose  you  can  hang  your  hat 
on.  I  do  know  of  one  now.  My  man  Rummins  knows  of  one. 
Do  you  like  pugs  .■'  " 

"  I  adore  them,"  says  the  lady. 

"  I'll  give  you  one,  if  I  have  to  pay  fifty  pounds  for  it. 
And  they  fetch  a  good  figure,  the  real  pugs  do,  I  can  tell  you. 
Once  in  London  there  was  an  exhibition  of  'em,  and " 

"  Brownie,  Brownie,  down  !  "  cries  Agnes.  The  dog  was 
jumping  at  a  gentleman,  a  tall  gentleman  with  a  red  mustache 
and  beard,  who  advances  through  the  chequered  shade,  under 
the  ponderous  beams,  over  the  translucent  sea. 

"Pray  don't  mind,  Brownie  won't  hurt  me,"  says  a  perfectly 
well-known  voice,  the  sound  of  which  sends  all  the  color  shud- 
dering out  of  Miss  Agnes'  pink  cheeks. 

"  You  see  I  gave  my  cousin  this  dog,  Captain  Woolcomb," 
says  the  gentleman ;  "  and  the  little  slut  remembers  me. 
Perhaps  Miss  Twysden  prefers  the  pug  better." 

"  Sir !  " 

"If  it  has  a  nose  you  can  hang  your  hat  on,  it  must  be  a 
very  pretty  dog,  and  I  suppose  you  intend  to  hang  your  hat  on 
it  a  good  deal." 

"  Oh,  Philip !  "  says  the  lady  ;  but  an  attack  of  that  dreadful 
coughing  stops  further  utterance. 


2  r  2  THE  A D I  'ENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CONTAINS   TWO    OF    PHILIP's   MISHAPS. 

You  know  that,  in  some  parts  of  India,  infanticide  is  the 
common  custom.  It  is  part  of  the  religion  of  the  land,  as,  in 
other  districts,  widow-burning  used  to  be.  I  can't  imagine 
that  ladies  like  to  destroy  either  themselves  or  their  children, 
though  they  submit  with  bravery,  and  even  cheerfulness,  to  the 
decrees  of  that  religion  which  orders  them  to  make  away  with 
their  own  or  their  young  ones'  lives.  Now,  suppose  you  and  I, 
as  Europeans,  happened  to  drive  up  where  a  young  creature 
was  just  about  to  roast  herself,  under  the  advice  of  her  family 
and  the  highest  dignitaries  of  her  church  :  what  could  we  do  ? 
Rescue  her  ?  No  such  thing.  We  know  better  than  to  inter- 
fere with  her,  and  the  laws  and  usages  of  her  country.  We 
turn  away  with  a  sigh  from  the  mournful  scene  ;  we  pull  out 
our  pocket-handkerchiefs,  tell  coachman  to  drive  on,  and  leave 
her  to  her  sad  fate. 

Now  about  poor  Agnes  Twysden  :  how,  in  the  name  of 
goodness,  can  we  help  her  ?  You  see  she  is  a  well-brought-up 
and  religious  young  woman  of  the  Brahminical  sect.  If  she  is 
to  be  sacrificed,  that  old  Brahmin,  her  father,  that  good  and 
devout  mother,  that  most  special  Brahmin  her  brother,  and  that 
admirable  girl  her  straitlaced  sister,  all  insist  upon  her  under- 
going the  ceremony,  and  deck  her  with  flowers  ere  they  lead 
her  to  that  dismal  altar  flame.  Suppose,  I  say,  she  has  made 
up  her  mind  to  throw  over  poor  Philip,  and  take  on  with  some 
one  else  ?  What  sentiment  ought  our  virtuous  bosoms  to  enter- 
tain towards  her  ?  Anger  ?  \  have  just  been  holding  a  con- 
versation with  a  young  fellow  in  rags  and  without  shoes,  whose 
bed  is  commonly  a  dry  arch,  who  has  been  repeatedly  in  prison, 
whose  father  and  mother  were  thieves,  and  whose  grandfathers 
were  thieves  ; — are  we  to  be  angry  with  him  for  following  the 
paternal  profession  ?  With  one  eye  brimming  with  pity,  the 
other  steadily  keeping  watch  over  the  family  spoons,_  I  listen 
to  his  artless  tale.  I  have  no  anger  against  that  child  ;  nor 
towards  thee,  Agnes,  daughter  of  Talbot  the  Brahmin, 

For  though  duty  is  duty,  when  it  comes  to  the  pinch,  it  is 
often  hard  to  do.  Though  dear  papa  and  mamma  say  that  here 
is  a  gentleman  with  ever  so  many  thousands  a  year,  an  un- 


ON  HIS  WA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  253 

doubted  part  in  So-and-So-shire,  and  whole  islands  in  the 
western  main,  who  is  wildly  in  love  with  your  fair  skin  and 
blue  eyes,  and  is  ready  to  fling  all  his  treasures  at  your  feet ; 
yet,  after  all,  when  you  consider  that  he  is  very  ignorant,  though 
very  cunning  :  very  stingy,  though  very  rich  ;  very  ill-tempered, 
probably,  if  faces  and  eyes  and  mouths  can  tell  truth  :  and  as 
for  Philip  Firmin — though  actually  his  legitimacy  is  dubious,  as 
we  have  lately  heard,  in  which  case  his  maternal  fortune  is  ours 
— and  as  for  his  paternal  inheritance,  we  don't  know  whether 
the  doctor  is  worth  thirty  thousand  pounds  or  a  shilling ; — yet, 
after  all — as  for  Philip — he  is  man  ;  he  is  a  gentleman  ;  he  has 
brains  in  his  head,  and  a  great  honest  heart  of  which  he  has 
offered  to  give  the  best  feelings  to  his  cousin  : — I  say,  when  a 
poor  girl  has  to  be  off  with  that  old  love,  that  honest  and  fair 
love,  and  be  on  with  the  new  one,  the  dark  one,  I  feel  for  her  ; 
and  though  the  Brahmins  are,  as  we  know,  the  most  genteel 
sect  in  Hindostan,  I  rather  wish  the  poor  child  could  have 
belonged  to  some  lower  and  less  rigid  sect.  Poor  Agnes !  to 
think'that  he  has  sat  for  hours,  with  mamma  and  Blanche  or 
the  governess,  of  course,  in  the  room  (for,  you  know,  when  she 
and  Philip  were  quite  wee  wee  things  dear  mamma  had  little 
amiable  plans  in  view)  ;  has  sat  for  hours  by  Miss  Twysden's 
side  pouring  out  his  heart  to  her ;  has  had,  mayhap,  little 
precious  moments  of  confidential  talk — little  hasty  whispers  in 
corridors,  on  stairs,  behind  window-curtains,  and — and  so  forth 
in  fact.  She  must  remember  all  this  past ;  and  can't,  without 
some  pang,  listen  on  the  same  sofa,  behind  the  same  window- 
curtains,  to  her  dark  suitor  pouring  out  his  artless  tales  of 
barracks,  boxing,  horseflesh,  and  the  tender  passion.  He  is 
dull,  he  is  mean,  he  is  ill-tempered,  he  is  ignorant,  and  the 
other  was  *  *  *  *  •  but  she  will  do  her  duty :  oh,  yes  !  she 
will  do  her  duty !  Poor  Agnes  !  Cest  cl  fcndre  le  cceur.  I 
declare  I  quite  feel  for  her. 

When  Philip's  temper  was  roused,  I  have  been  compelled, 
as  his  biographer,  to  own  how  very  rude  and  disagreeable  he 
could  be  ;  and  you  must  acknowledge  that  a  young  man  has 
some  reason  to  be  displeased,  when  he  finds  the  girl  of  his 
heart  hand-in-hand  with  another  young  gentleman  in  an  occult 
and  shady  recess  of  the  woodwork  of  Brighton  Pier.  The 
green  waves  are  softly  murmuring :  so  is  the  ofiicer  of  the  Life- 
Guards  Green.  The  waves  are  kissing  the  beach.  Ah,  agon- 
izing thought!  I  will  not  pursue  the  simile,  which  may  be  but 
a  jealous  man's  mad  fantasy.  Of  this  I  am  sure,  no  pebble 
on  that  beach  is  cooler  than  polished  Agnes.     But,  then,  Philip 


-^54 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PIIILir 


drunk  with  jealousy  is  not  a  reasonable  being  like  Philip  sober. 
'' He  had  a  dreadful  temper,"  Philip's  dear  aunt  said  of  him 
afterwards,—"  I  trembled  for  my  dear  gentle  child,  united  for 
ever  to  a  man  of  that  violence.  Never,  in  my  secret  mind, 
could  I  think  that  their  union  could  be  a  happy  one.  Besides, 
you  know,  the  nearness  of  their  relationship.  My  scruples  on 
that  score,  dear  Mrs.  Candour,  never,  never  could  be  quite  got 
over."  And  these  scruples  came  to  weigh  whole  tons,  when 
Mangrove  Hall,  the  House  in  Berkeley  Square,  and  Mr.  Wool- 
comb's  West  India  island  were  put  into  the  scale  along  with 
them. 

Of  course  there  was  no  good  in  remaining  amongst  those 
damp,  reeking  timbers,  now  that  the  pretty  little  tctC'd.-tefe  was 
over.  Little  Brownie  hung  fondling  and  whining  round  Philip's 
ankles,  as  the  party  ascended  to  the  upper  air.  "  My  child, 
how  pale  you  look ! "  cries  Mrs.  Penfold,  putting  down  her 
x'olume.  Out  of  the  Captain's  open  eyeballs  shot  lurid  flames, 
and  hot  blood  burned  behind  his  yellow  cheeks.  In  a  quarrel, 
Mr.  Philip  Firmin  could  be  particularly  cool  and  self-possessed. 
When  Miss  Agnes  rather  piteously  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold,  he  made  a  bow  as  polite  and  gracious  as  any  performed 
by  his  royal  father.  "  My  little  dog  knew  me,"  he  said,  caress- 
ing the  animal.  "  She  is  a  faithful  little  thing,  and  she  led  me 
down  to  my  cousin  ;  and — Captain  Woolcomb,  I  think,  is  your 
name,  sir  ?  " 

As  Philip  curls  his  mustache  and  smiles  blandly.  Captain 
Woolcomb  pulls  his  and  scowls  fiercely.  "  Yes,  sir,"  he  mut- 
ters, "  my  name  is  Woolcomb."  Another  bow  and  a  touch  of 
the  hat  from  Mr.  Firmin.  A  touch  ? — a  gracious  wave  of  the 
hat;  acknowledged  by  no  means  so  gracefully  by  Captain 
Woolcomb. 

To  these  remarks  Mrs.  Penfold  says,  "  Oh !  "  In  fact, 
"  Oh  !  "  is  about  the  best  thing  that  could  be  said  under  the 
circumstances. 

"  My  cousin,  Miss  Twysden,  looks  so  pale  because  she  was 
out  very  late  dancing  last  night.  I  hear  it  was  a  very  pretty 
ball.  But  ought  she  to  keep  such  late  hours,  Mrs.  Penfold, 
with  her  delicate  health?  Indeed,  you  ought  not,  Agnes! 
Ought  she  to  keep  late  hours.  Brownie  ?  There — don  t,  you 
little  foolish  thing  !  I  gave  my  cousin  the  dog :  and  she's  very 
fond  of  me — the  dog  is — still.  You  were  saying,  Captain 
Woolcomb,  when  I  came  up,  that  you  would  give  Miss  1  \vys- 
C\<t\\  a  dog  on  whose  nose  you  could  hang  your  *  *  *  *  i  beg 
pardon  ?  " 


ON  HIS  WA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


255 


Mr.  Woolcomb,  as  Philip  made  this  second  allusion  to  the 
peculiar  nasal  formation  of  the  pug,  ground  his  little  white 
teeth  together,  and  let  slip  a  most  improper  monosyllable. 
More  acute  bronchial  suffering  was  manifested  on  the  part  of 
Miss  Twysden.  Mrs.  Penfold  said,  "  The  day  is  clouding  over. 
I  think,  Agnes,  I  will  ha\e  my  chair,  and  go  home." 

"  May  I  be  allowed  to  walk  with  you  as  far  as  your  house  }  " 
says  Philip,  twiddling  a  little  locket  which  he  wore  at  his  watch- 
chain.  It  was  a  little  gold  locket,  with  a  little  pale  hair  inside. 
Whose  hair  could  it  have  been  that  was  so  pale  and  fine.?  As 
for  the  pretty,  hieroglyphical  A.  T.  at  the  back,  those  letters 
might  indicate  Alfred  Tennyson,  or  Anthony  Trollope,  who 
might  have  given  a  lock  of  f/ia'r  golden  hair  to  Philip,  for  I 
know  he  is  an  admirer  of  their  works. 

Agnes  looked  guiltily  at  the  little  locket.  Captain  Wool- 
comb  pulled  his  mustache  so,  that  you  would  have  thought  he 
would  have  pulled  it  off ;  and  his  opal  eyes  glared  with  fearful 
confusion  and  wrath. 

"  Will  you  please  to  fall  back  and  let  me  speak  to  you, 
Agnes  ?  Pardon  me,  Captain  Woolcomb,  I  have  a  private  mes- 
sage for  my  cousin  ;  and  I  came  from  London  expressly  to 
deliver  it." 

"  If  Miss  Twysden  desires  me  to  withdraw,  I  fall  back  in 
one  moment,"  says  the  Captain,  clenching  the  little  lemon- 
colored  glove:-. 

"  My  cousin  and  I  have  lived  together  all  our  lives,  and  I 
bring  her  a  family  message.  Have  you  any  particular  claim  to 
hear  it.  Captain  Woolcomb  ?  " 

"  Not  if  Miss  Twysden  don't  want  me  to  hear  it.  *  *  *  D — 
the  little  brute." 

"  Don't  kick  poor  little  harmless  Brownie  !  He  sha'n't  kick 
you,  shall  he.  Brownie  ?  " 

"If  the  brute  comes  between  my  shins,  I'll  kick  her!" 
shrieks  the  Captain.    "  Hang  her,  I'll  throw  her  into  the  sea  !  " 

"  Whatever  you  do  to  my  dog,  I  swear  I  will  do  to  you !  " 
whispers  Philip  to  the  Captain, 

"  Where  are  you  staying  ? "  shrieks  the  Captain.  "  Hang 
you,  you  shall  hear  from  me. 

"  Quiet — '  Bedford  Hotel.'  Easy,  or  I  shall  think  you  want 
the  ladies  to  overhear." 

"  Your  conduct  is  horrible,  sir,"  says  Agnes,  rapidly,  in  the 
French  language.     "  Mr.  does  not  comprehend  it." 

" it!     If  you  have  any  secrets   to  talk,  I'll  withdraw 

fast  enough,  Miss  Agnes,"  says  Othello. 


25G  THE  ADl'ENTi'RES  OF  PHILIP 

"  Oh,  Grenville  ?  can  I  have  any  secrets  from  you  ?  Mr, 
Firniin  is  my  first-cousin.  \Ve  liave  lived  together  all  our  lives' 
Philip,  I — 1  don't  know  whether  mamma  announced  to  you — 
my — my  engagement  with  Captain  Grenville  Woolcomb."  The 
agitation  has  brought  on  another  severe  bronchial  attack. 
Poor,  poor  little  Agnes  !     What  it  is  to  have  a  delicate  throat ! 

The  pier  tosses  up  to  the  skies,  as  though  it  had  left  its 
moorings — the  houses  on  the  cliff  dance  and  reel,  as  though  an 
earthquake  was  driving  them — the  sea  walks  up  into  the  lodg- 
ing-houses— and  Philip's  legs  are  falling  from  under  him  :  it  is 
only  for  a  moment.  When  you  have  a  large,  tough  double 
tooth  out,  doesn't  the  chair  go  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  your  head 
come  off,  too  .''  But,  in  the  next  instant,  there  is  a  grave  gentle- 
man before  you,  making  you  a  bow,  and  concealing  something 
in  his  right  sleeve.  The  crash  is  over.  You  are  a  man  again. 
Philip  clutches  hold  of  the  cha^n  pier  for  a  minute  :  it  does  not 
sink  under  him.  The  houses,  after  reeling  for  a  second  or  two, 
reassume  the  perpendicular,  and  bulge  their  bow-windows 
towards  the  main.  He  can  see  the  people  looking  from  the 
windows,  the  carriages  passing.  Professor  Spurrier  riding  on 
the  cliff  with  eighteen  young  ladies,  his  pupils.  In  long  after- 
days  he  remembers  those  absurd  little  incidents  with  a  curious 
tenacity. 

"This  news,"  Philip  says,  "was  not — not  altogether  unex- 
pected. I  congratulate  my  cousin,  I  am  sure.  Captain  Wool- 
comb,  had  I  known  this  for  certain,  I  am  sure  I  should  not 
have  interrupted  you.  You  were  going,  perhaps,  to  ask  me  to 
your  hospitable  house,  Mrs.  Penfold  ?  " 

"  Was  she  though  ?  "  cries  the  Captain, 

"  I  have  asked  a  friend  to  dine  with  me  at  the  '  Bedford,* 
and  shall  go  to  town,  1  hope,  in  the  morning.  Can  I  take 
anything  for  you,  Agnes  ?  Good-by  :  "  and  he  kisses  his  hand 
in  quite  a  degage  manner,  as  Mrs.  Penfold's  chair  turns  east- 
ward, and  he  goes  to  the  west.  Silently  the  tall  Agnes  sweeps 
along,  a  fair  hand  laid  upon  her  friend's  chair. 

It's  over  !  it's  over  !  She  has  done  it.  He  was  bound,  and 
kept  his  honor,  but  she  did  not :  it  was  she  who  forsook  him. 
And  I  fear  very  much  Mr,  Philip's  heart  leaps  with  pleasure 
and  an  immense  sensation  of  relief  at  thinking  he  is  free.  He 
meets  half-a dozen  acquaintances  on  the  clifif.  He  laughs, 
jokes,  shakes  hands,  invites  two  or  three  to  dinner  in  the  gayest 
manner.  He  sits  down  on  that  green,  not  very  far  from  his  inn, 
and  is  laughing  to  himself,  when  he  suddenly  feels  something 
nestling  at  his  knees,  —  rubbing,  and  nestling,  and  whining 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


257 


plaintively.  "  What,  is  tliat  you  ? "  It  is  little  Brownie,  who 
has  followed  him.     Poor  little  rogue  ! 

Then  Philip  bent  down  his  head  over  the  dog,  and  as  it 
jumped  on  him,  with  little  bleats,  and  whines,  and  innocent 
caresses,  he  broke  out  into  a  sob,  and  a  great  refreshing  rain  of 
tears  fell  from  his  eyes.  Such  a  little  illness !  Such  a  mild 
fever  !  Such  a  speedy  cure  !  Some  people  have  the  complaint 
so  mildly  that  they  are  scarcely  ever  kept  to  their  beds,  Somo 
bear  its  scars  for  ever. 

Philip  sat  resolutely  at  the  hotel  all  night,  having  given 
special  orders  to  the  porter  to  say  that  he  was  at  home,  in  case 
any  gentleman  should  call.  He  had  a  faint  hope,  he  afterwards 
owned,  that  some  friend  of  Captain  Woolcomb  might  wait  on 
him  on  that  officer's  part.  He  had  a  faint  hope  that  a  letter 
might  come  explaining  that  treason, — as  people  will  have  a  sick, 
gnawing,  yearning,  foolish  desire  for  letters — letters  which  con- 
tain nothing — which  never  did  contain  anything — letters  which, 

nevertheless,  you .     You  know,  in  fact,  about  those  letters, 

and  there  is  no  earthly  use  in  asking  to  read  Philip's.  Have 
we  not  all  read  those  love  letters  which,  after  love-quarrels, 
come  into  court  sometimes  ?  We  have  all  read  them  ;  and  how 
many  have  written  them  ?  Nine  o'clock.  Ten  o'clock.  Eleven 
o'clock.  No  challenge  from  the  Captain ;  no  explanation  from 
Agnes.  Philip  declares  he  slept  perfectly  well.  But  poor  little 
Brownie  the  dog  made  a  piteous  howling  all  night  in  the  stables. 
She  was  not  a  well-bred  dog.  You  could  not  have  hung  the 
least  hat  on  her  nose. 

We  compared  anon  our  dear  Agnes  to  a  Brahmin  lady, 
meekly  offering  herself  up  to  sacrifice  according  to  the  practice 
used  in  her  her  highly  respectable  caste.  Did  we  speak  in 
anger  or  in  sorrow  ? — surely  in  terms  of  respectful  grief  and 
sympathy.  And  if  we  pity  her,  ought  we  not  likewise  to  pity 
her  highly  respectable  parents  ?  When  the  notorious  Brutus 
ordered  his  sons  to  execution,  you  can't  suppose  he  was  such 
a  brute  as  to  be  pleased  ?  All  three  parties  suffered  by  the 
transaction  :  the  sons,  probably,  even  more  than  their  austere 
father  ;  but  it  stands  to  reason  that  the  whole  trio  were  very 
melancholy.  At  least,  were  I  a  poet  or  musical  composer,  I 
certainly  should  make  them  so.  The  sons,  piping  in  a  very 
minor  key  indeed  ;  the  father's  manly  basso,  accompanied 
by  deep  wind  instruments,  and  interrupted  by  appropriate  sobs. 
Though  pretty  fair  Agnes  is  being  led  to  execution,  I  don't 
suppose  she  likes  it,  or  that  her  parents  are  happy,  who  are 
compelled  to  order  the  tragedy. 

17 


258  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

That  the  rich  young  proprietor  of  Mangrove  Hall  should  be 
fond  of  her  was  merely  a  coincidence,  Mrs.  Twysden  afterwards 
always  averred.  Not  for  mere  wealth — ah,  no  !  not  for  mines 
of  gold — would  they  sacrifice  their  darling  child.  But  when 
that  sad  Firmin  affair  happened,  you  see  it  also  happened  that 
Captain  Woolcomb  was  much  struck  by  dear  Agnes,  whom  he 
met  everywhere.  Her  scapegrace  of  a  cousin  would  go  no- 
where. He  preferred  his  bachelor  associates,  and  horrible 
smoking  and  drinking  habits,  to  the  amusements  and  pleasures 
of  more  refined  societ}'.  He  neglected  Agnes.  There  is  not 
the  slightest  doubt  he  neglected  and  mortified  her,  and  his 
wilful  and  frequent  absence  showed  how  little  he  cared  for  her. 
Would  you  blame  the  dear  girl  for  coldness  to  a  man  M'ho  him- 
self showed  such  indifference  to  her  t  "  No,  my  good  Mrs. 
Candour.  Had  Mr.  Firmin  been  ten  times  as  rich  as  Air.  Wool- 
comb,  1  should  have  counselled  my  child  to  refuse  him.  / 
take  the  responsibility  of  the  measure  entirely  on  myself — I, 
and  her  father,  and  her  brother."  So  Mrs.  Twysden  afterwards 
spoke,  in  circles  where  an  absurd  and  odious  rumor  ran,  that 
the  Twysdens  had  forced  their  daughter  to  jilt  young  Mr. 
Firmin  in  order  to  marry  a  wealthy  quadroon.  People  will 
talk,  you  know,  di'  vie,  de  te.  If  Woolcomb's  dinners  had  not 
gone  off  so  after  his  marriage,  I  have  little  doubt  the  scandal 
would  have  died  away,  and  he  and  his  wife  might  ha\-e  been 
pretty  generally  respected  and  visited. 

Nor  must  you  suppose,  as  we  have  said,  that  dear  Agnes 
gave  up  her  first  love  without  a  pang.  That  bronchitis  showed 
how  acutely  the  poor  thing  felt  her  position.  It  broke  out  very 
soon  after  Mr.  Woolcomb's  attentions  became  a  little  particu- 
lar; and  she  actually  left  London  in  consequence.  It  is  true 
that  he  could  follow  her  without  difhculty,  but  so,  for  the 
matter  of  that,  could  Philip,  as  we  have  seen  \\-hen  he  came 
down  and  behaved  so  rudely  to  Captain  Woolcomb.  And 
before  Philip  came,  poor  Agnes  could  plead,  "  My  father 
pressed  me  sair,"  as  in  the  case  of  the  notorious  Mrs.  Robin 
Gray. 

1' ather  and  mother  both  pressed  her  sair.  Mrs.  Twysden,  I 
think  I  have  mentioned,  wrote  an  admirable  letter,  and  was 
aware  of  her  accomplishment.  vShe  used  to  write  reams  of 
gossip  regularly  every  week  to  dear  uncle  Ringvvood  when  he 
was  in  the  country  :  and  when  her  daughter  Blanche  married, 
she  is  said  to  have  written  several  of  her  new  son's  sermons. 
As  a  Christian  mother,  was  she  not  to  give  her  daughter  her 
advice  at  this  momentous  jieriod  of  her  life  ?    That  advice  went 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  259 

against  poor  Philip's  chances  with  his  cousin,  who  was  kept 
acquainted  with  all  the  circumstances  of  the  controversy  of 
which  we  have  just  seen  the  issue.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
Mrs.  Twysden  gave  an  impartial  statement  of  the  case.  What 
parties  in  a  lawsuit  do  speak  impartially  on  their  own  side  or 
their  adversaries'  ?  Mrs.  Twysden's  view,  as  I  have  learned 
subsequently,  and  as  imparted  to  her  daughter,  was  this  : — 
That  most  unprincipled  man,  Dr.  Firmin,  who  had  already 
attempted,  and  unjustlv,  to  deprive  the  Twysdens  of  a  part  of 
their  property,  had  commenced  in  quite  early  life  his  career  of 
outrage  and  wickedness  against  the  Ringwood  family.  He  had 
led  dear  Lord  Ringwood's  son,  poor  dear  Lord  Cinqbars,  into 
a  career  of  vice  and  extravagance  which  caused  the  premature 
death  of  that  unfortunate  young  nobleman.  Mr.  Firmin  had 
then  made  a  marriage,  in  spite  of  the  tears  and  entreaties  of 
Mrs.  Twysden,  with  her  late  unhappy  sister,  whose  whole  life 
had  been  made  wretclied  by  the  doctor's  conduct.  But  the 
climax  of  outrage  and  wickedness  was,  that  when  he — he,  a  low, 
penniless  adventurer — married  Colonel  Ringwood's  daughter, 
he  was  married  already,  as  could  be  sworn  by  the  repentant 
clergyman  who  had  been  forced,  by  threats  of  punishment 
which  Dr.  Firmin  held  over  him,  to  perform  the  rite  !  "  The 
mind  " — Mrs.  Talbot  Twysden's  fine  mind — "  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  such  wickedness."  But  most  of  all  (for  to  think  ill 
of  any  one  whom  she  had  once  loved  gave  her  jDain)  there  was 
reason  to  believe  that  the  unhappy  Philip  Firmin  was  his 
father's  accomplice,  and  that  he  knew  of  his  owti  illegitimacy., 
which  he  was  determined  to  set  aside  by  z-uy  fraud  or  artifcc — 
(she  trembled,  she  wept  to  have  to  say  this  :  O  heaven  !  that 
there  should  be  such  perversity  in  thy  creatures  !)  And  so 
little  store  did  Philip  set  by  his  mother's  honor,  that  he  actually 
visited  the  abandoned  woman  who  acquiesced  in  her  own 
infamy,  and  had  brought  such  unspeakable  disgrace  on  the 
Ringwood  family !  The  thought  of  this  crime  had  caused  Mrs„ 
Twysden  and  her  dear  husband  nights  of  sleepless  anguish — 
had  made  them  years  and  years  older — had  stricken  their  hearts 
with  a  grief  which  must  endure  to  the  e7id  of  their  days.  With 
people  so  unscrupulous,  so  grasping,  so  artful  as  Dr.  Firmin 
and  (must  she  say  ?)  his  sort,  they  were  bound  to  be  on  their 
guard ;  and  though  they  had  avoided  Philip,  she  had  deemed  it 
right,  on  the  rare  occasions  when  she  and  the  young  man  whom 
she  must  now  call  h.er  illegiiimate  nephew  met,  to  behave  as 
though  she  knew  nothing  of  this  most  dreadful  controversy. 
"  And  now,  dearest  child  "  *  *  *  Surely  the  moral  is  ob- 


26o  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PIHLIP 

vious  ?  The  dearest  child  "  must  see  at  once  that  any  foolish 
plans  which  were  formed  in  childish  days  and  ViX\(S.Q.x  former  delu- 
sions must  be  cast  aside  for  ever  as  impossible,  as  unworthy  of  a 
Twysden — of  a  Ringwood.  Be  not  concerned  for  the  young 
man  himself,"  wrote  Mrs.  Twysden — "  I  blush  that  he  should 
bear  that  dear  father's  name  who  was  slain  in  honor  on  Busaco's 
glorious  field.  P.  F.  has  associates  amongst  whom  he  has  ever 
been  much  more  at  home  than  in  our  refined  circle,  and  habits 
which  will  cause  him  to  forget  you  only  too  easily.  And  if  near 
you  is  one  whose  ardor  shows  itself  in  his  every  word  and 
action,  whose  wealth  and  property  may  raise  you  to  a  place 
worthy  of  my  child,  need  I  say,  a  mother's,  a  father's  blessing 
go  with  you."  This  letter  was  brought  to  Miss  Twysden,  at 
Brighton,  by  a  special  messenger ;  and  the  superscription  an- 
nounced that  it  was  "  honored  by  Captain  Grenville  Woolcomb." 

Now  when  Miss  Agnes  has  had  a  letter  to  this  effect  (I  may 
at  some  time  tell  you  how  I  came  to  be  acquainted  with  its  con- 
tents) ;  when  she  remembers  all  the  abuse  her  brother  lavishes 
against  Philip  as,  heaven  bless  some  of  them!  dear  relatives 
can  best  do  ;  when  she  thinks  how  cold  he  has  of  late  been — 
how  he  7oiIl  come  smelling  of  cigars — how  he  won't  conform  to 
the  usages  du  monde,  and  has  neglected  all  the  decencies  of 
society — how  she  often  can't  understand  his  strange  rhapso- 
dies about  poetry,  painting,  and  the  like,  nor  how  he  can  live 
with  such  associates  as  those  who  seem  to  delight  him — and 
now  how  he  is  showing  himself  actually  unprincipled  and 
abetting  his  horrid  father ;  when  we  consider  mither  pressing 
sair,  and  all  these  points  in  mither's  favor,  I  don't  think  we  can 
order  Agnes  to  instant  execution  for  the  resolution  to  which 
she  is  coming.  She  will  give  him  up — she  will  give  him  up. 
Good-by,  Philip.  Good-by  the  past.  Be  forgotten,  be  for- 
gotten, fond  words  spoken  in  not  unwilling  ears  !  Be  still  and 
breathe  not,  eager  lips,  that  have  trembled  so  near  to  one  an- 
other !  Unlock,  hands,  and  part  for  ever,  that  seemed  to  be 
formed  for  life's  long  journey  !  Ah,  to  part  for  ever  is  hard  ; 
but  harder  and  more  humiliating  still  to  ])art  without  regret  ! 

That  papa  and  mamma  had  influenced  Miss  Twysden  in  her 
behavior  my  wife  and  I  could  easily  imagine,  when  J'hilip,  in  his 
wrath  and  grief,  came  to  us  and  poured  out  the  feelings  of  his 
heart.  My  wife  is  a  repository  of  men's  secrets,  an  untiring 
consoler  and  comforter;  and  she  knows  many  a  sad  story  which 
we  are  not  at  liberty  to  tell,  like  this  one  of  which  this  person, 
Mr.  Firmin,  has  given  us  possession. 

"  Father  and  mother's  orders,"  shouts  Philip,  "  I  dare  say, 


OiV  mS  WAY  THROUGIT  THE  WORLD.  26 1 

Mrs.  Penclennis  ;  but  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought  of 
partini::,  and  it  was  for  the  blackamoor's  parks  and  acres  that 
the  p;irl  jilted  nie.  Look  here,  T  told  you  just  now  that  I  slept 
perfectly  well  on  that  infernal  night  after  I  had  said  farewell  to 
her.  Well,  I  didn't.  It  was  a  lie.  I  walked  ever  so  many 
times  the  whole  length  of  the  cliff,  from  Hove  to  Rottingdean 
almost,  and  then  went  to  bed  afterwards,  and  slept  a  little  out 
of  sheer  fatigue.  And  as  I  was  passing  by  Horizontal  Terrace 
(^ — X  happened  to  pass  by  there  two  or  three  times  in  the  moon- 
light, like  a  great  jackass — )  you  know  those  verses  of  mine 
wliich  I  have  hummed  here  sometimes  ?  "  (hummed  I  he  used 
to  roar  them  !)  "  'When the  locks  of  burnished  gold,  lady,  shall 
to  silver  turn  I '  Never  mind  the  rest.  You  know  the  verses 
about  fidelity  and  old  age  ?  She  was  singing  them  on  that 
night  to  that  negro.  And  I  heard  the  beggar's  voice  say, 
'  Bravo  ! '  through  the  open  windows." 

"  Ah,  Philip  !  it  was  cruel,"  says  my  wife,  heartily  pitying 
our  friend's  anguish  and  misfortune.  "It  was  cruel  indeed. 
I  am  sure  we  can  feel  for  you.  But  think  what  certain  mis- 
ery a  marriage  with  such  a  person  would  have  been  !  Think 
of  your  warm  heart  given  away  for  ever  to  that  heartless  crea- 
ture." 

"  Laura,  Laura,  have  you  not  often  warned  me  not  to  speak 
ill  of  people  ?  "  says  Laura's  husband. 

"  I  can't  help  it  sometimes,"  cries  Laura  in  a  transport.  "  I 
try  and  do  my  best  not  to  speak  ill  of  my  neighbors  ;  but  the 
worldliness  of  those  people  shocks  me  so  that  I  can't  bear  to  be 
near  them.  They  are  so  utterly  tied  and  bound  by  conven- 
tionalities, so  perfectly  convinced  of  their  own  excessive 
high-breeding,  that  they  seem  to  me  more  odious  and  more 
vulgar  than  quite  low  people  ;  and  I'm  sure  Mr,  Philip's  friend, 
the  Little  Sister,  is  infinitely  more  ladylike  than  this  dreary 
aunt  or  either  of  his  supercilious  cousins  ! "  Upon  my  word, 
when  this  lady  did  speak  her  mind,  there  was  no  mistaking  her 
meaning. 

I  believe  Mr.  Firmin  took  a  considerable  number  of  people 
into  his  confidence  regarding  this  love  affair.  He  is  one  of 
those  individuals  who  can't  keep  their  secrets  ;  and  when  hurt 
he  roars  so  loudly  that  all  his  friends  can  hear.  It  has  been 
remarked  that  the  sorrows  of  such  persons  do  not  endure  very 
long  ;  nor  surely  was  there  any  great  need  in  this  instance  that 
Philip's  heart  should  wear  a  lengthened  mourning.  Ere  long 
he  smoked  his  pipes,  he  played  his  billiards,  he  shouted  his 
songs  ;  he  rode  in  the  Park  for  the  pleasure  of  severely  cutting 


262  TITE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILTP 

his  aunt  and  cousins  when  their  open  carriage  passed,  or  of 
riding  down  Captain  Woolcomb  or  his  cousin  Ringwood,  should 
either  of  those  worthies  come  in  liis  way. 

One  day,  when  the  old  Lord  Ringwood  came  to  town  for  his 
accustomed  spring  visit,  Philip  condescended  to  wait  upon 
him,  and  was  announced  to  his  lordship  just  as  Talbot  Twysden 
and  Ringwood  his  son  were  taking  leave  of  their  noble  kins- 
man. Philip  looked  at  them  with  a  flashing  eye  and  a  distended 
nostril,  according  to  his  swaggering  wont.  1  dare  say  they  on 
their  part  bore  a  very  mean  and  hangdog  appearance  ;  for  my 
lord  laughed  at  their  discomfiture,  and  seemed  immensely 
amused  as  they  slunk  out  of  the  door  when  Philip  came 
hectoring  in. 

"  So,  sir,  there  has  been  a  family  row.  Heard  all  about  it : 
at  least,  their  side.  Your  father  did  me  the  favor  to  marry 
my  niece,  having  another  wife  already?  " 

"  Having  no  other  wife  alread}^,  sir — though  my  dear 
relations  were  anxious  to  show  that  he  had." 

"  Wanted  your  money  ;  thirty  thousand  pound  is  not  a  trifle. 
Ten  thousand  apiece  for  those  children.  And  no  more  need 
of  any  confounded  pinching  and  scraping,  as  they  have  to  do 
at  Reaunash  Street.  Aftair  off  between  you  and  Agnes  ? 
Absurd  affair.     So  much  the  better." 

"  Yes,  sir,  so  much  the  better." 

"  Have  ten  thousand  apiece.  Would  have  twenty  thousand 
if  they  got  yours.     Quite  natural  to  want  it." 

"  Quite." 

"Woolcomb  a  sort  of  negro,  I  understand.  Fine  jDroperty 
here  :  besides  the  West  India  rubbish.  Violent  man — so 
people  tell  me.  Luckily  Agnes  seems  a  cool,  easy-going 
woman,  and  must  put  up  with  the  rough  as  well  as  the  smooth 
in  marrying  a  property  like  that.  Very  lucky  for  you  that  the 
woman  persists  there  was  no  marriage  with  your  father. 
Twysden  says  the  doctor  bribed  her.  Take  it  he's  not  got 
much  money  to  bribe,  unless  you  gave  some  of  yours." 

"  I  don't  bribe  people  to  bear  false  witness,  my  lord — and 
if " 

"  Don't  be  in  a  huff  ;  I  didn't  say  so.  Twysden  says  so — 
perhaps  thinks  so.  When  people  are  at  law  they  believe  any- 
thing of  one  another." 

"  I  don't  know  what  other  people  may  do,  sir.  If  I  had 
another  man's  money,  I  should  not  be  easy  until  I  had  paid 
him  back.  Had  my  share  of  my  grandfather's  property  not 
been  lawfully  mine — and  for  a  few  hours  I  thought  it  was  not 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  263 

— please  God,  I  would  have  given  it  up  to  its  rightful  owners— 
at  least,  my  father  would." 

"  Why,  hang  it  all,  man,  you  don't  mean  to  say  your  father 
has  not  settled  with  you  ?  " 

Philip  blushed  a  little.  He  had  been  rather  surprised  that 
there  had  been  no  settlement  between  him  and  his  father. 

"  I  am  only  of  age  a  few  months,  sir.  I  am  not  under  any 
apprehension.  I  get  my  dividends  regularly  enough.  One  of 
my  grandfather's  trustees.  General  Baynes,  is  in  India.  He  is 
to  return  almost  immediately,  or  we  should  have  sent  a  power 
of  attorney  out  to  him.  There's  no  hurry  about  the  busi- 
ness." 

Philip's  maternal  grandfather,  and  Lord  Ringwood's  brother, 
the  late  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  had  died  possessed  of  but 
trifling  property  of  his  own  j  but  his  wife  had  brought  him  a 
fortune  of  sixty  thousand  pounds,  which  was  settled  on  their 
children,  and  in  the  names  of  trustees — Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer, 
and  Colonel  Baynes,  an  East  India  officer,  and  friend  of  ]\Irs. 
Philip  Ringwood's  family.  Colonel  Baynes  had  been  in  Eng- 
land some  eight  years  before  ;  and  Philip  remembered  a  kind 
old  gentleman  coming  to  see  him  at  school,  and  leaving  tokens 
of  his  bounty  behind.  The  other  trustee,  Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer 
of  considerable  county  reputation,  was  dead  long  since,  having 
left  his  affairs  in  an  involved  condition.  During  the  trustee's 
absence  and  the  son's  minority,  Philip's  father  received  the 
dividends  on  his  son's  property,  and  liberally  spent  them  on 
the  boy.  Indeed,  I  believe  that  for  some  little  time  at  college, 
and  during  his  first  journeys  abroad,  Mr,  Philip  spent  rather 
more  than  the  income  of  his  maternal  inheritance,  being  freely 
supplied  by  his  father,  who  told  him  not  to  stint  himself.  He 
was  a  sumptuous  man.  Dr.  Firmin — open-handed — subscribing 
to  many  charities — a  lover  of  solemn  good  cheer.  The  doctor's 
dinners  and  the  doctor's  equipages  were  models  in  their  way  ; 
and  I  remember  the  sincere  respect  with  which  my  uncle  the 
Major  (the  family  guide  in  such  matters)  used  to  speak  of  Dr. 
Firmin's  taste.  "  No  duchess  in  London,  sir,"  he  would  say, 
"  drove  better  horses  than  Mrs.  Firmin.  Sir  George  Warrender, 
sir,  could  not  give  a  better  dinner,  sir,  than  that  to  which  we  sat 
down  yesterday."  And  for  the  exercise  of  these  civic  virtues 
the  doctor  had  the  hearty  respect  of  the  good  Major. 

"Don't  tell  me,  sir,"  on  the  other  hand,  Lord  Ringwood 
would  say ;  "  I  dined  with  the  fellow  once — a  swaggering  fel- 
low, sir  ;  but  a  servile  fellow.  The  way  he  bowed  and  flattered 
was  perfectly  absurd.     Those  fellows  think  we  like  it — and  we 


2(54  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

may.  Even  at  my  age,  I  like  flattery — any  quantity  of  it ;  and 
not  what  you  call  delicate,  but  strong,  sir.  I  like  a  man  to 
kneel  clown  and  kiss  my  shoe-strings.  I  have  my  own  opinion 
of  him  afterwards,  but  that  is  what  I  like — what  all  men  like; 
and  that  is  what  Firmin  gave  in  quantities.  But  you  could  see 
that  his  house  was  monstrously  expensive.  His  dinner  was 
excellent,  and  you  saw  it  was  good  every  day — not  like  your 
dinners,  my  good  Maria  ;  not  like  your  wines,  Twysden,  which, 
hang  it,  I  can't  swallow,  unless  I  send  'em  in  myself.  Even  at 
my  own  house,  I  don't  give  that  kind  of  wine  on  common  occa- 
sions which  Firmin  used  to  give.  I  drink  the  best  myself,  of 
course,  and  give  it  to  some  who  know  ;  but  I  don't  give  it  to 
common  fellows,  who  come  to  hunting  dinners,  or  to  girls  and 
boys  who  are  dancing  at  my  balls." 

"  Yes  ;  Mr.  Firmin's  dinners  were  very  handsome — and  a 
pretty  end  came  of  the  handsome  dinners !  "  sighed  Mrs. 
Twysden. 

"  That's  not  the  question  ;  I  am  only  speaking  about  the 
fellow's  meat  and  drink,  and  they  were  both  good.  And  it's 
my  opinion,  that  fellow  will  have  a  good  dinner  wherever  he 
goes." 

I  had  the  fortune  to  be  present  at  one  of  these  feasts,  which 
Lord  Ringwood  attended,  and  at  which  I  met  Philip's  trustee. 
General  Baynes,  who  had  just  arrived  from  India.  I  remember 
now  the  smallest  details  of  the  little  dinner, — the  brightness  of 
the  old  plate,  on  which  the  doctor  prided  himself,  and  the  quiet 
comfort,  not  to  say  splendor,  of  the  entertainment.  The 
General  seemed  to  take  a  great  liking  to  Philip,  whose  grand- 
father had  been  his  special  friend  and  comrade  in  arms.  He 
thought  he  saw  something  of  Philip  Ringwood  in  Philip  Fir- 
min's face. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  "  growls  Lord  Ringwood. 

"  You  ain't  a  bit  like  him,*'  says  the  downright  General. 
"  Never  saw  a  handsomer  or  more  open-looking  feiiow  than 
Philip  Ringwood." 

"  Oh  !  I  daresay  I  looked  pretty  open  myself  forty  years 
ago,"  said  my  lord;  "now  Fm  shut,  I  suppose.  I  don't  see 
the  least  likeness  in  this  young  man  to  my  brother." 

"  That  is  some  sherry  as  old  as  the  century,"  whispers  the 
host ;  "  it  is  the  same  the  Prince  Regent  liked  so  at  a  Mansion 
House  dinner,  five-and-twenty  years  ago." 

"  Never  knew  anything  about  wine  ;  was  always  tippling 
liqueurs  and  punch.  What  do  you  give  for  this  sherry, 
doctor  ?  " 


ON  Ills  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  265 

The  doctor  sighed,  and  looked  up  to  the  chandelier. 
"  Drink  it  while  it  lasts,  my  good  lord  ;  but  don't  ask  me  the 
price.     The  fact  is,  I  don't  like  to  saj'-  what  I  gave  for  it." 

"  You  need  not  stint  yourself  in  the  price  of  sherry,  doctor," 
cries  the  General  gayly  ;  "  you  have  but  one  son,  and  he  has  a 
fortune  of  his  own,  as  I  happen  to  know.  You  haven't  dipped 
it,  Master  Philip  ?  " 

"  I  fear,  sir,  I  may  have  exceeded  my  income  sometimes, 
in  the  last  three  years  ;  but  my  father  has  helped  me." 

"  Exceeded  nine  hundred  a  year  !  Upon  my  word  !  When 
I  was  a  sub,  my  friends  gave  me  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  I 
never  was  a  shilling  in  debt !     What  are  men  coming  to  now  ?  " 

"  If  doctor's  drink  Prince  Regent's  sherry  at  ten  guineas  a 
dozen,  what  can  you  expect  of  their  sons,  General  Paynes  ?  " 
grumbles  my  lord. 

"  My  father  gives  you  his  best,  my  lord,"  says  Philip  gayly ; 
"  if  you  know  of  any  better,  he  will  get  it  for  you.  Si  non  his 
utere  viecum  f     Please  to  pass  me  that  decanter.  Pen  !  " 

I  thought  the  old  lord  did  not  seem  ill  pleased  at  the  young 
man's  freedom  ;  and  now,  as  I  recall  it,  think  I  can  remem- 
ber that  a  peculiar  silence  and  anxiety  seemed  to  weigh  upon 
our  host — upon  him  whose  face  was  commonly  so  anxious 
and  sad. 

The  famous  sherry,  which  had  made  many  voyages  to 
Indian  climes  before  it  acquired  its  exquisite  flavor,  had  trav- 
elled some  three  or  four  times  round  the  doctor's  polished 
table,  when  Price,  his  man,  entered  with  a  letter  on  a  silver 
tray.  Perhaps  Philip's  eyes  and  mine  exchanged  glances  in 
which  ever  so  small  a  scintilla  of  mischief  might  sparkle.  The 
doctor  often  had  letters  when  he  was  entertaining  his  friends  ; 
and  his  patients  had  a  knack  of  falling  ill  at  awkward  times. 

"  Gracious  heavens  !  "  cries  the  doctor,  when  he  read  the 
despatch — it  was  a  telegraphic  message.  "  The  poor  Grand 
Duke  !  " 

"  What  Grand  Duke  ?  "  asks  the  surly  lord  of  Ringwood. 

"  My  earliest  patron  and  friend  —  the  Grand  Duke  of 
Groningen  !  Seized  this  morning  at  eleven  at  Potzendorff  ! 
Has  sent  for  me.  I  promised  to  go  to  him  if  ever  he  had  need 
of  me.  I  must  go  !  I  can  save  the  night  train  yet.  General ! 
our  visit  to  the  City  must  be  deferred  till  my  return.  Get  a 
portmanteau.  Price  ;  and  call  a  cab  at  once.  Philip  will  enter- 
tain my  friends  for  the  evening.  My  dear  lord,  you  won't  mind 
an  old  doctor  leaving  you  to  attend  an  old  patient  ?  I  will 
write  from  Groningen.     I  shall  be  there  on  Friday  morning. 


266  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Farewell,  gentlemen !  Brice,  another  bottle  of  that  sherry  !  I 
pray,  don't  let  anybody  stir  !  God  bless  you,  Philip  my  boy  !  " 
And  with  this  the  doctor  went  up,  took  his  son  by  the  hand, 
and  laid  tlie  other  very  kindly  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 
Then  he  made  a  bow  round  the  table  to  his  guests — one  of  liis 
graceful  bows,  for  which  he  was  famous.  1  can  see  the  sad 
smile  on  his  face  now,  and  the  light  from  the  chandelier  over 
the  dining-table  glancing  from  his  shining  forehead,  and  cast- 
ing deep  shadows  on  to  his  cheek  from  his  heavy  brows. 

The  departure  was  a  little  abrupt,  and  of  course  cast  some- 
what of  a  gloom  upon  the  company. 

"  My  carriage  ain't  ordered  till  ten — must  go  on  sitting 
here,  I  suppose.  Confounded  life  doctor's  must  be  !  Called 
up  any  hour  in  the  night !  Get  their  fees  !  Must  go ! " 
growled  the  great  man  of  the  party. 

"  People  are  glad  enough  to  have  them  when  they  are  ill, 
my  lord.  I  think  I  ha\-e  heard  that  once  when  you  were  at 
Ryde     *     =*     *" 

The  great  man  started  back  as  if  a  little  shock  of  cold 
water  had  fallen  on  him  ;  and  then  looked  at  Philip  with  not 
unfriendly  glances.  "  Treated  for  gout — so  he  did.  Very  well, 
too  !  "  said  my  lord  ;  and  whispered,  not  inaudibly,  "  Cool  hand, 
that  boy  !  "  And  then  his  lordship  fell  to  talk  with  General 
Paynes  about  his  campaigning,  and  his  early  acquaintance 
with  his  own  brother,  Philip's  grandfather. 

The  general  did  not  care  to  brag  about  his  own  feats  of 
arms,  but  was  loud  in  praises  of  his  old  comrade.  Philip  was 
pleased  to  hear  his  grandsire  so  well  spoken  of.  The  General 
had  known  Dr.  Firmi-n's  father  also,  who  likewise  had  been  a 
colonel  in  the  famous  old  Peninsular  army,  "  A  Tartar  that 
fellow  was,  and  no  mistake  ! "  said  the  good  officer,  "  Your 
father  has  a  strong  look  of  him  ;  and  you  have  a  glance  of  him 
at  times.  But  you  remind  me  of  Philip  Ringwood  not  a  little  ; 
and  you  could  not  belong  to  a  better  man." 

"  Ha  !  "  says  my  lord.  There  had  been  differences  between 
him  and  his  brother.  He  may  ha\e  been  thinking  of  days 
when  they  were  friends.  Lord  Ringwood  now  graciously 
asked  if  General  Baynes  was  staying  in  London  ?  But  the 
General  had  only  come  to  do  this  piece  of  business,  which  must 
now  be  delayed.  He  was  too  poor  to  live  in  London.  He 
must  look  out  for  a  country  place,  where  he  and  his  six  children 
could  live  cheaply.  "  Three  boys  at  school,  and  one  at  college, 
Mr.  Philip — you  know  what  that  must  cost ;  though,  thank  my 
stars,  my  college  boy  does  not  spend  nine  hundred  a  year 


ON  ms  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  267 

Nine  hundred  !  Where  should  we  be  if  he  did  ?  "  In  fact,  the 
days  of  nabobs  are  long  over,  and  the  General  had  come  back 
to  his  native  country  with  only  very  small  means  for  the  sup- 
port of  a  great  family. 

When  my  lord's  carriage  came,  he  departed,  and  the  other 
guests  presently  took  their  leave.  The  General,  who  was  a 
bachelor  for  the  nonce,  remained  awhile,  and  we  three  prattled 
over  cheroots  in  Philip's  smoking-room.  It  was  a  night  like  a 
hundred  I  have  spent  there,  and  yet  how  well  I  remember  it  ! 
We  talked  about  Philip's  future  prospects,  and  he  communi- 
cated his  intentions  to  us  in  his  lordly  way.  As  for  practising 
at  the  bar :  "  No,  sir,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  General  Paynes' 
queries;  he  should  not  make  much  hand  of  that ;  shouldn't  if 
he  were  ever  so  poor.  He  had  his  own  money,  and  his  father's  ;" 
and  he  condescended  to  say  that  "  he  might,  perhaps,  try  for 
Parliament  should  an  eligible  opportunity  offer."  "  Here's  a 
fellow  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,"  says  the  Gen- 
eral, as  we  walked  away  together.  "  A  fortune  to  begin  with  ; 
a  fortune  to  inherit.  My  fortune  was  two  thousand  pounds, 
and  the  price  of  my  two  first  commissions;  and  when  I  die  my 
children  will  not  be  quite  so  well  off  as  their  father  was  when 
he  began  !  " 

Having  parted  with  the  old  officer  at  his  modest  sleeping 
quarters  near  his  club,  I  walked  to  my  own  home,  little  thinking 
that  yonder  cigar,  of  which  I  had  shaken  some  of  the  ashes  in 
Philip's  smoking-room,  was  to  be  the  last  tobacco  I  ever  should 
smoke  there.  The  pipe  was  smoked  out.  The  wine  was 
drunk.  Wlien  that  door  closed  on  me,  it  closed  for  the  last 
time — at  least  was  never  more  to  admit  me  as  Philip's,  as  Dr. 
Firmin's,  guest  and  friend.  I  pass  the  place  often  now.  My 
youth  comes  back  to  me  as  I  gaze  at  those  blank,  shining  win- 
dows. I  see  myself  a  boy  and  Philip  a  child  ;  and  his  fair 
mother  ;  and  his  father,  the  hospitable,  the  melancholy,  the 
magnificent.  I  wish  I  could  have  helped  him.  I  wish  some- 
how he  had  borrowed  money.  He  never  did.  He  gave  me  his 
often.  I  have  never  seen  him  since  that  night  when  his  own 
door  closed  upon  him. 

On  the  second  day  after  the  doctor's  departure,  as  I  was  at 
breakfast  with  my  family,  I  received  the  following  letter : — 

"  My  DEAR  Pendennis, — Could  I  have  seen  you  in  private  on  Tuesday  night,  I  miglit 
have  warned  you  of  the  Calamity  which  was  hanging  over  my  house.  But  to  what  good 
end?  That  you  should  know  a  few  weeks,  hours,  before  what  all  the  world  will  ring  witli 
to-morrow?  Neither  you  nor  I,  nor  one  whom  we  both  love,  would  have  been  the  happier 
for  knowing  my  misfortunes  a  few  hours  sooner.  In  four-and-lwenty  hours  every  club  in 
London  will  be  busy  with  talk  of  the  departure  of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Firmin — the  wealthy 


268  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Dr.  Firmin  ;  a  few  moiitlis  more  and  (I  have  strict  and  confidential  reason  to  believe) 
liereditary  rank  would  have  been  mine,  but  Sir  George  Kirmin  would  have  been  an  insol- 
vent man,  and  his  son  Sir  Philii)  a  beggar.  Perhaps  the  thought  of  this  honor  has  been 
Due  of  the  reasons  which  has  determined  me  on  expatriating  myself  sooner  than  I  otherwise 
needed  to  have  done. 

"  George  Firmin,  the  honored,  the  wealthy  physician,  and  his  son  a  beggar?  I  see  you 
ire  startled  at  the  news!  You  wonder  how,  with  a  great  practice,  and  no  great  ostensible 
expenses,  such  ruin  should  come  upon  me — uiion  him.  It  has  seemed  as  if  for  years  past 
Fate  has  been  determined  to  make  war  upon  George  lirand  Firmin  ;  and  who  can  battle 
ngainst  Fate?  A  man  universally  admitted  to  be  of  good  judgment,  I  have  embarked  in 
mercantile  speculations  the  most  promising.  Everything  upon  which  I  laid  my  liand  has 
crumbled  to  ruin ;  but  I  can  say  with  the  Roman  bard,  ' hnfiavidiiiii/erieut  ruina;.''  And, 
almost  penniless,  almost  aged,  an  exile  driven  from  my  country,  I  seek  another  where  I  do 
not  despair — I  even  haveajirvi  belief  \\\'a\.  I  shall  be  enabled  to  repair  my  shattered  fortunes! 
My  race  has  never  been  deficient  in  courage,  and  Philip  and  Philip' s father  mu&\.  use  all 
theirs,  so  as  to  be  enabled  to  face  the  dark  times  which  menace  them.  Si  celeres  qtiatit 
iaritias  Fortuna,  we  must  resign  what  she  gave  us,  and  bear  our  calamity  with  unshaken 
hearts ! 

"  There  is  a  man,  I  own  to  you,  whom  I  cannot,  I  must  not  face.  General  Baynes  has 
just  come  from  India,  with  but  very  small  savings,  I  fear;  and  these  are  jeopardized  by  his 
imprudence  and  my  most  cruel  and  unexpected  misfortune.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  viy 
It// would  have  been  my  boy's.  My  will,  made  long  since,  will  be  found  in  the  tortoiseshell 
secretaire  standing  in  my  consulting-room  under  the  picture  of  Abraham  offering  up  Isaac. 
In  it  you  will  see  that  everything,  except  annuities  to  old  and  deserving  servants  and  a 
leg.acy  to  oite  excellent  and  faithful  woman  whom  I  own  I  have  wronged — my  all,  which 
once  was  considerable,  is  left  to  viy  boy. 

"  I  am  now  worth  less  than  nothing,  and  have  compromised  Philip's  property  along 
with  my  own.  As  a  man  of  business,  General  Baynes,  Colonel  Ringwood's  old  companion 
in  arms,  was  culpably  careless,  and  I — alas!  that  1  must  own  it — deceived  him.  Being  the 
only  surviving  trustee  (Mrs.  Philip  Ringwood's  other  trustee  was  an  unprincipled  attorney 
whn  has  been  long  dead),  General  B-  signed  a  paper  authorizing,  as  he  imagined,  my 
bankers  to  receive  Philip's  dividends,  but,  in  fact,  giving  me  the  power  to  dispose  of  the 
capital  sum.  On  my  honor,  as  a  man,  as  a  gentleman,  as  a  father,  Pendennis,  I  hoped  to 
repl.ace  it!  I  took  it;  I  embarked  it  in  speculations  in  which  it  sank  down  with  ten  times 
the  amount  of  my  own  private  jiroperty.  Half-year  after  half-year,  with  straitened  means 
and  with  the  greatest  difficulty  to  myself  my  poor  boy  has  had  his  dividend ;  and  he  at 
least  has  never  knowni  what  was  want  or  anxiety  until  now.  Want?  Anxiety?  Pray 
Heaven  he  never  may  suffer  the  sleepless  anguish,  the  racking  care  which  has  pursued  me! 
''Post  equitetii  sedct  atra  ciira,'  our  favorite  poet  says.  Ah!  how  truly,  too,  docs  he  re- 
mark, '  Patrice  giiis  exnl  se  qnoquc  fue;itV  Think  you  where  I  go  grief  and  remorse  will 
not  follow  me?  They  will  never  leave  me  until  I  shall  return  to  this  country — for  that  I 
i//ir// return,  my  heart  tells  me — until  I  can  reimburse  General  Baynes,  who  stands  indebted 
to  Philip  through  his  incautiousness  and  my  overpowering  necessity  ;  and  my  heart — an 
erring  but  io\\<\  father's  heart — tells  me  that  my  boy  will  not  eventually  lose  a  penny  by  my 
misfortune. 

"  I  own,  between  ourselves,  that  this  illness  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Grciningen  was  a 
pretext  which  I  put  forward.  You  will  hear  of  me  ere  long  from  the  place  whither  for  some 
time  past  I  have  determined  on  bending  my  steps.  I  placed  loo/.  on  Saturday,  to  Philip's 
credit,  at  his  banker's.  I  take  little  more  than  that  sum  with  me;  depresse'd,  yetyK//o/ 
hope  ;  having  done  wrong,  yet  deter )nined\n  retrieve  it,  and  vowing  that  ere  I  die  my  poor 
boy  shall  not  have  to  blush  at  bearing  the  name  of 

"  GuoRCE  Brand  Firmin. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Philip !  Your  old  friend  will  tell  you  of  my  misfortunes.  When  I 
write  again,  it  will  be  to  tell  you  where  to  address  me  ;  and  wherever  I  am,  or  whatever 
misfortunes  opj^ress  me,  think  of  me  always  as  your  fond 

"  Father." 

I  had  scarce  read  this  awful  letter  when  Philip  Firmin 
himself  came  into  our  breakfast-room  looking  ver}^  much  dis- 
turbed. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  26c 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SAMARITANS. 

The  children  trotted  up  to  their  friend  with  outstretched 
hands  and  their  usual  smiles  of  welcome.  Philip  patted  their 
heads,  and  sat  down  with  very  woe-begone  aspect  at  the  family 
table.     "  Ah,  friends,"  said  he,  "  do  you  know  all  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  do,"  said  Laura,  sadly,  who  has  ever  compassion 
for  other's  misfortunes. 

"  What !  is  it  all  over  the  town  already  ?  "  asked  poor 
Philip. 

"  We  have  a  letter  from  your  father  this  morning."  And 
we  brought  the  letter  to  him,  and  showed  him  the  affectionate 
special  message  for  himself, 

"  His  last  thought  was  for  you,  Philip  !  "  cries  Laura.  "  See 
here,  those  last  kind  words  !  " 

Philip  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  not  untrue,  what  is  written 
here :  but  it  is  not  all  the  truth."  And  Philip  Firmin  dismayed 
us  by  the  intelligence  which  he  proceeded  to  give.  There  was 
an  execution  in  the  house  in  Old  Parr  Street.  A  hundred 
clamorous  creditors  had  appeared  there.  Before  going  away, 
the  doctor  had  taken  considerable  sums  from  those  dangerous 
financiers  to  whom  he  had  been  of  late  resorting.  They  were 
in  possession  of  numberless  lately  signed  bills,  upon  which  the 
desperate  man  had  raised  money.  He  had  professed  to  share 
with  Philip,  but  he  had  taken  the  great  share,  and  left  Philip 
two  hundred  pounds  of  his  own  money.  All  the  rest  was  gone. 
All  Philip's  stock  had  been  sold  out.  The  father's  fraud  had 
made  him  master  of  the  trustee's  signature  :  and  Philip  Firmin, 
reputed  to  be  so  wealthy,  was  a  beggar,  in  my  room.  Luckily 
he  had  few,  or  very  trifling,  debts.  Mr.  Philip  had  a  lordly 
impatience  of  indebtedness,  and,  with  a  good  bachelor-income, 
had  paid  for  all  his  pleasures  as  he  enjoyed  them. 

Well !  He  must  work.  A  young  man  ruined  at  two-and- 
twenty,  with  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  yet  in  his  pocket, 
hardly  knows  that  he  is  ruined.  He  will  sell  his  horses — live 
in  chambers — has  enough  to  go  on  for  a  year.  "  When  I  am 
very  hard  put  to  it,"  says  Philip,  "  I  will  come  and  dine  with 


270 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


the  children  at  one.  I  dare  say  you  haven't  dined  much  at 
Williams's  in  the  Old  Bailey  ?  You  can  get  a  famous  dinnei 
there  for  a  shilling — beef,  bread,  potatoes,  beer,  and  a  penny 
for  the  waiter."  Yes,  Philip  seemed  actually  to  enjoy  his  dis- 
comfiture. It  was  long  since  we  had  seen  him  in  such  spirits. 
"  The  weight  is  off  my  mind  now.  It  has  been  throttling  me 
for  some  time  past.  Without  understanding  why  or  wherefore, 
I  have  always  been  looking  out  for  this.  My  poor  father  had 
ruin  written  in  his  face  ;  and  when  those  bailiffs  made  their 
appearance  in  Old  Parr  Street  yesterday,  I  felt  as  if  I  had 
known  them  before.  I  had  seen  their  hooked  beaks  in  my 
dreams." 

"  That  unlucky  General  Baynes,  when  he  accepted  your 
mother's  trust,  took  it  with  its  consequences.  If  the  sentry 
falls  asleep  on  his  post,  he  must  pay  the  penalty,"  says  Mr. 
Pendennis,  very  severely. 

"  Great  powers,  you  would  not  have  me  come  down  on  an 
old  man  with  a  large  family,  and  ruin  them  all  ?  "  cries  Philip. 

"  No  :  I  don't  think  Philip  will  do  that,"  says  my  wife, 
looking  exceedingly  pleased. 

"  If  men  accept  trusts  they  must  fulfil  them,  my  dear,"  cries 
the  master  of  the  house. 

"  And  I  must  make  that  old  gentleman  suffer  for  my  father's 
wrong  ?     If  I  do,  may  I  starve  !    there  !  "  cries  Philip. 

"  And  so  that  poor  Tittle  Sister  has  made  her  sacrifice  in 
vain  !  "  sighed  my  wife.  "  As  for  the  father — oh,  Arthur !  I 
can't  tell  you  how  odious  that  man  was  to  me.  There  was 
something  dreadful  about  him.  And  in  his  manner  to  women 
—oh ! " 

"  If  he  had  been  a  black  draught,  my  dear,  you  could  not 
have  shuddered  more  naturally." 

"  Well,  he  was  horrible  ;  and  I  know  Philip  will  be  better 
now  he  is  gone." 

Women  often  make  light  of  ruin.  Give  them  but  the  beloved 
objects,  and  poverty  is  a  trifiing  sorrow  to  bear.  As  for  Philip, 
he,  as  we  have  said,  is  gayer  than  he  has  been  for  years  past. 
The  doctor's  flight  occasions  not  a  little  club  talk  :  but,  now  he 
is  gone,  many  people  see  quite  well  that  they  were  aware  of  his 
insolvency,  and  always  knew  it  must  end  so.  The  case  is  told, 
is  canvassed,  is  exaggerated  as  such  cases  will  be.  I  dare  say 
it  forms  a  week's  talk.  But  people  know  that  poor  Philip  is 
his  father's  largest  creditor,  and  eye  the  young  man  with  no 
unfriendly  looks  when  he  comes  to  his  club  after  his  mishap, — 
with  burning  cheeks,  and  a  tingling  sense  of  shame,  imagining 


ON  HIS  IV A  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


271 


that  all  the  world  will  point  at  and  avoid  him  as  the  guilty 
fugitive's  s jn. 

"  No :  the  world  takes  very  little  heed  of  his  misfortune. 
One  or  two  old  acquaintances  are  kinder  to  him  than  before. 
A  few  say  his  ruin,  and  his  obligation  to  work,  will  do  him 
good.  Only  a  very,  very  few  avoid  him,  and  look  unconscious 
as  he  passes  them  by.  Amongst  these  cold  countenances,  you, 
of  course,  will  recognize  the  faces  of  the  whole  Twysden  family. 
Three  statues,  with  marble  eyes,  could  not  look  more  stony- 
calm  than  Aunt  Twysden  and  her  two  daughters,  as  they  pass 
in  the  stately  barouche.  The  gentlemen  turn  red  when  they 
see  Philip.  It  is  rather  late  times  for  Uncle  Twysden  to  begin, 
blushing,  to  be  sure.  *'  Hang  the  fellow  !  he  will,  of  course,  be 
coming  for  money.  Dawkins,  I  am  not  at  home,  mind,  when 
young  Mr.  Firmin  calls."  So  says  Lord  Ringwood,  regarding 
Philip  fallen  among  thieves.  Ah,  thanks  to  Heaven,  travellers 
find  Samaritans  as  well  as  Levites  on  life's  hard  way  !  Philip 
told  us  with  much  humor  of  a  rencontre  which  he  had  had 
with  his  cousin,  Ringwood  Twysden,  in  a  public  place.  Twysden 
was  enjoying  himself  with  some  young  clerks  of  his  office;  but 
as  Philip  advanced  upon  him,  assuming  his  fiercest  scowl  and 
most  hectoring  manner,  the  other  lost  heart,  and  fled.  And  no 
wonder.  "  Do  you  suppose,"  says  Twysden,  "  I  will  willingly 
sit  in  the  same  room  with  that  cad,  after  the  manner  in  which 
he  has  treated  my  family !  No,  sir !  "  And  so  the  tall  door  in 
Beaunash  Street  is  to  open  for  Philip  Firmin  no  more. 

The  tall  door  in  Beaunash  Street  flies  open  readily  enough 
for  another  gentleman.  A  splendid  cab-horse  reins  up  before 
it  every  day.  A  pair  of  varnished  boots  leap  out  of  the  cab, 
and  spring  up  the  broad  stairs,  where  somebody  is  waiting  with 
a  smile  cf  genteel  welcome — the  same  smile — on  the  same  sofa 
— the  same  mamma  at  her  table  writing  her  letters.  And  beau- 
tiful bouquets  from  Covent  Garden  decorate  the  room.  And 
after  half  an  hour  mamma  goes  out  to  speak  to  the  house- 
keeper, voHS  comprenez.  And  there  is  nothing  particularly  new 
under  the  sun.  It  will  shine  to-morrow  upon  pretty  much  the 
same  flowers,  sports,  pastimes,  &c.,  which  it  illuminated  yester- 
day. And  when  your  love-making  days  are  over,  miss,  and 
you  are  married,  and  advantageously  established,  shall  not 
your  little  sisters,  now  in  the  nursery,  trot  down  and  play  their 
little  games  ?  ^^'ould  you,  on  your  conscience,  now — you  who 
are  rather  inclined  to  consider  Miss  Agnes  Twysden 's  conduct 
as  heartless — would  you,  I  say,  have  her  cry  her  pretty  eyes  but 
about  a  young  man  who  does  not  care  much  for  her,  for  whom 


72 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


she  never  did  care  much  herself,  and  who  is  now,  moreover,  a  beg* 
gar,  with  a  ruined  and  disgraced  father  and  a  doubtful  legiti- 
macy? Absurd!  That  dear  girl  is  like  a  beautiful  fragrant 
bower-room  at  the  "  Star  and  Garter "  at  Richmond,  with 
honeysuckles  mayhap  trailing  round  the  windows,  from  which 
you  behold  one  of  the  most  lovely  and  pleasant  of  wood  and 
river  scenes.  The  tables  are  decorated  with  flowers,  rich  wine- 
cups  sparkle  on  the  board,  and  Captain  Jones's  party  have 
everything  they  can  desire.  Their  dinner  over,  and  that  com- 
pany gone,  the  same  waiters,  the  same  flowers,  the  same  cups 
and  crystals,  array  themselves  for  Mr.  Brown  and  his  party. 
Or,  if  3'ou  won't  have  Agnes  Tw)-sden  compared  to  the  "  Star 
and  Garter  Tavern,"  which  must  admit  mixed  company,  liken 
her  to  the  chaste  moon  who  shines  on  shepherds  of  all  com- 
plexions, swarthy  or  fair. 

When  ojDpressed  by  superior  odds,  a  commander  is  forced 
to  retreat,  we  like  him  to  show  his  skill  by  carrying  off  his  guns, 
treasure,  and  camp  equipages.  Doctor  Firmin,  beaten  by  for- 
tune and  compelled  to  fly,  showed  quite  a  splendid  skill  and 
coolness  in  his  manner  of  decamping,  and  left  the  very  smallest 
amount  of  spoils  in  the  hands  of  the  victorious  enemy.  His 
wines  had  been  famous  amongst  the  grave  epicures  with  whom 
he  dined  :  he  used  to  boast,  like  a  \\oxi\\y  hon-viv ant  wXxo  knows 
the  value  of  wine-conversation  after  dinner,  of  the  quantities 
which  he  possessed,  and  the  rare  bins  which  he  had  in  store  ; 
but  when  the  executioners  came  to  arrange  his  sale,  there  was 
found  only  a  beggarly  account  of  empty  bottles,  and  I  fearsome 
of  the  unprincipled  creditors  put  in  a  great  quantity  of  bad 
liquor  which  they  endeavored  to  foist  ofiE  on  the  public  as  the 
genuine  and  carefully  selected  stock  of  a  well-known  connois- 
seur. News  of  this  dishonest  proceeding  reached  Dr.  Firmin 
presently  in  his  retreat ;  and  he  showed  by  his  letter  a  generous 
and  manly  indignation  at  the  manner  in  which  his  creditors  had 
tamj^ered  with  his  honest  name  and  reputation  as  a  bon-vivant. 
He  have  bad  wine  !  For  shame  !  He  had  the  best  from  the 
best  wine-merchant,  and  paid,  or  rather  owed,  the  best  prices 
for  it ;  for  of  late  years  the  doctor  had  paid  no  bills  at  all : 
and  the  wine-merchant  appeared  in  quite  a  handsome  group  of 
figures  in  his  schedule.  In  like  manner  his  books  were  pnwned 
to  a  book  auclionecr  ;  and  Lrice,  the  butler,  had  a  bill  of  sale 
for  the  furniture.  Firmin  retreated,  we  will  not  say  with  the 
honors  of  war,  but  as  little  harmed  as  possible  by  defeat.  Did 
the  enemy  want  the  plunder  of  his  city  "i  He  had  smuggled 
almost  all  his  valuable  goods  over  the  wall.     Did  they  desire 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


273 


his  ships?  He  had  sunk  them  :  and  when  at  length  the  con- 
querors poured  into  his  stronghold,  he  was  far  bej'ond  the  reach 
of  their  shot.  Don't  we  often  hear  still  that  Nana  Sahib  is 
alive  and  exceedingly  comfortable  ?  We  do  not  love  him ;  but 
we  can't  help  having  a  kind  of  admiration  for  that  slippery 
fugitive  who  has  escajDcd  from  the  dreadful  jaws  of  the  lion.  In 
a  word,  when  Firmin's  furniture  came  to  be  sold,  it  was  a  mar- 
vel how  little  his  creditors  benefited  by  the  sale.  Contemptuous 
brokers  declared  there  never  was  such  a  shabby  lot  of  goods. 
A  friend  of  the  house  and  poor  Philip  bought  in  his  mother's 
picture  for  a  few  guineas  ;  and  as  for  the  doctor's  own  state 
portrait,  I  am  afraid  it  went  for  a  few  shillings  only,  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  roar  of  Hebrew  laughter.  I  saw  in  Wardour  Street, 
not  long  after,  the  doctor's  sideboard,  and  what  dealers  cheer- 
fully call  the  sarcophagus  cellaret.  Poor  doctor  !  his  wine  was 
all  drunken  ;  his  meat  was  eaten  up ;  but  his  own  body  had 
slipped  out  of  the  reach  of  the  hook-beaked  birds  of  prey. 

We  had  spoken  rapidly  in  undertones,  innocently  believing 
that  the  young  people  round  about  us  were  taking  no  heed  of 
our  Jalk.  But  in  a  lull  of  the  conversation,  Mr.  Pendennis 
junior,  who  had  always  been  a  friend  to  Philip,  broke  out  with 
— "  Philip !  if  you  are  so  very  poor,  you'll  be  hungrj^,  you  know, 
and  you  may  have  my  piece  of  bread  and  jam.  And  I  don't 
want  it,  mamma,"  he  added  ;  "  and  you  know  Philip  has  often 
and  often  given  me  things." 

Philip  stooped  down  and  kissed  this  good  little  Samaritan. 
"  I'm  not  hungry,  Arty,  my  boy,"  he  said  ;  "  and  I'm  not  so  poor 
but  I  have  got — look  here — a  fine  new  shilling  for  Arty  !  " 

"  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  "  cried  mamma. 

"Don't  take  the  money,  Arthur,"  cried  papa. 

And  the  boy,  with  a  rueful  face  but  a  manly  heart,  prepared 
to  give  back  the  coin.  "  It's  quite  a  new  one  ;  and  it's  a  very 
pretty  one  :  but  I  won't  have  it,  Philip,  thank  you,"  he  said, 
turning  very  red. 

"  If  he  won't,  I  vow  I  will  give  it  to  the  cabman,"  said  Philip. 

"  Keeping  a  cab  all  this  while  ?  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  "  again 
cries  mamma  the  economist. 

"  Loss  of  time  is  loss  of  money,  my  dear  lady,"  says  Philip, 
very  gravely.  ''  I  have  ever  so  many  places  to  go  to.  When  I 
am  set  in  for  being  ruined,  you  shall  see  what  a  screw  I  will  be- 
come !  I  must  go  to  ]\Irs.  Brandon,  who  will  be  very  uneasy, 
poor  dear,  until  she  knows  the  worst." 

"  Oh,  Philip,  I  should  like  so  to  go  with  you  !  "  cries  Laura. 
"  Pray,  give  her  our  very  best  regards  and  respects." 

18 


274 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHTLIP 


"  Merd  /"  said  the  youncj  man,  and  squeezed  Mrs.  Penden- 
nis's  hand  in  his  own  big  one.  "  I  will  take  your  message  to 
her,  Laura,     y'aime  qii'oti  Vaiine,  savez-vous  ?  " 

"  That  means,  I  love  those  who  love  her,"  cries  little  Laura ; 
"but,  I  don't  know,"  remarked  this  little  person  afterwards  to 
her  paternal  confidant,  "  that  I  like  all  people  to  love  my  mamma 
That  is,  I  don't  like  licr  to  like  them,  papa — only  you  may,  papa, 
and  Ethel  may,  and  Arthur,  may,  and,  I  think,  Philip  may,  now 
he  is  poor  and  quite,  quite  alone — and  we  will  take  care  of  him, 
won't  we  ?  And,  I  think,  I'll  buy  him  something  with  my  money 
which  Aunt  Ethel  gave  me." 

"  And  ['11  give  him  my  money,"  cries  a  boy. 

"And  I'll  ciiv  him  my — my "    Psha  !  what  matters  what 

the  little  sweet  lips  prattle  in  their  artless  kindness  ?  But  the 
soft  words  of  love  and  pity  smote  the  mother's  heart  with  an 
exquisite  pang  of  gratitude  and  joy  ;  and  I  know  where  her 
thanks  were  paid  for  those  tender  words  and  thoughts  of  her 
little  ones. 

Mrs.  Pendennis  made  Philip  promise  to  come  to  dinner,  and 
also  to  remember  not  to  take  a  cab — which  promise  Mr.  Firmin 
had  not  much  difficulty  in  executing,  for  he  had  but  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  to  walk  across  the  Park  from  his  club  ;  and  I  must 
say  that  my  wife  took  a  special  care  of  our  dinner  that  day,  pre- 
paring for  Philip  certain  dishes  which  she  knew  he  liked,  and 
enjoining  the  butler  of  the  establishment  (who  also  happened  to 
be  the  owner  of  the  house)  to  fetch  from  his  cellar  the  very 
choicest  wine  in  his  possession. 

I  have  previously  described  our  friend  and  his  boisterous, 
impetuous,  generous  nature.  When  Philip  was  moved,  he  called 
to  all  the  world  to  witness  his  emotion.  When  he  was  angry, 
his  enemies  were  all  the  rogues  and  scoundrels  in  the  world. 
He  vowed  he  would  have  no  mercy  on  them,  and  desired  all 
his  acquaintances  to  participate  in  his  anger.  How  could  such 
an  open-mouthed  son  have  such  a  close-spoken  father .''  I  dare 
say  you  have  seen  very  well-bred  young  people,  the  children  of 
vulgar  and  ill-bred  parents ;  the  swaggering  father  have  a  silent 
son  ;  the  loud  mother  a  modest  daughter.  Our  friend  is  not 
Amadis  or  Sir  Charles  Grandison  ;  and  I  don't  set  him  up  for  a 
moment  as  a  person  to  be  revered  or  imitated  ;  but  try  to  draw 
him  faithfully,  and  as  nature  made  him.  As  nature  made  him, 
so  he  was.  I  don't  think  he  tried  to  improve  himself  much. 
Perhaps  few  people  do.  They  suppose  they  do  :  and  you  read, 
in  apologetic  memoirs,  and  fond  biographies,  how  this  man  cured 
his  bad  temper,  and  t'other  worked  and  strove  until  he  grew  to 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUCir  HIE  WORLD. 


275 


be  almost  faultless.  Very  well  andgooil,  ni}'  good  people.  You 
can  learn  a  language  j  you  can  master  a  science  ;  I  have  heard 
of  an  old  square-toes  of  sixty  who  learned,  by  study  and  intense 
application,  very  satisfactorily  to  dance  ;  but  can  you,  by  taking 
thought,  add  to  your  moral  stature  ?  Ah  me  !  the  doctor  who 
preaches  is  only  taller  than  most  of  us  by  the  height  of  the 
pulpit :  and  when  he  steps  down,  I  dare  say  he  cringes  to  the 
duchess,  growls  at  his  children,  scolds  his  wife  about  the  dinner. 
All  is  vanity,  look  you  :  and  so  the  preacher  is  vanity,  too. 

Well,  then,  I  must  again  say  that  Philip  roared  his  griefs; 
he  shouted  his  laughter  :  he  bellowed  his  applause  :  he  was  ex- 
travagant in  his  humility  as  in  his  pride,  in  his  admiration  of 
his  friends  and  contempt  for  his  enemies  •  I  dare  say  not  a  just 
man,  but  I  have  met  juster  men  not  half  so  honest ;  and  cer- 
tainly not  a  faultless  man,  though  I  know  better  men  not  near  so 
good.  So,  I  believe,  my  wife  thinks  :  else  why  should  she  be 
so  fond  of  him  ?  Did  we  not  know  boys  who  never  went  out  of 
bounds,  and  never  were  late  for  school,  and  never  made  a  false 
concord  or  quantity,  and  never  came  under  the  ferule  ;  and 
others  who  were  always  playing  truant,  and  blundering,  and 
being  whipped  ;  and  yet,  somehow,  was  not  Master  Naughtyboy 
better  liked  than  Master  Goodchild  1  When  Master  Naughty- 
boy  came  to  dine  with  us  on  the  first  day  of  his  ruin,  he  bore  a 
face  of  radiant  happiness — he  laughed,  he  bounced  about,  he 
caressed  the  children  ;  now  he  took  a  couple  on  his  knees  ;  now 
he  tossed  the  baby  to  the  ceiling ;  now  he  sprawled  over  a  sofa, 
and  now  he  rode  upon  a  chair  ;  never  was  a  penniless  gentle- 
man more  cheerful.  As  for  his  dinner,  Phil's  appetite  was 
always  fine,  but  on  this  day  an  ogre  could  scarcely  play  a  more 
terrible  knife  and  fork.  He  asked  for  more  and  more,  until  his 
entertainers  wondered  to  behold  him.  "  Dine  for  to-day  and 
to-morrow  too ;  can't  expect  such  fare  as  this  every  day,  you 
know.  This  claret,  how  good  it  is  !  May  I  pack  some  up  in 
paper,  and  take  it  home  with  me  ?  "  The  children  roared  with 
laughter  at  this  admirable  idea  of  carrying  home  wine  in  a  sheet 
of  paper.  I  don't  know  that  it  is  always  at  the  best  jokes  that 
children  laugh  : — children  and  wise  men  too. 

When  we  three  were  by  ourselves,  and  freed  from  the  com- 
pany of  servants  and  children,  our  friend  told  us  the  cause  of 
his  gayety.  "  By  George  !  "  he  swore,  "  it  is  worth  being  ruined 
to  find  such  good  people  in  the  world.  My  dear,  kind  Laura  " — ■ 
here  the  gentleman  brushes  his  eyes  with  his  fist — "  it  was  as 
much  as  I  could  do  this  morning  to  prevent  myself  from  hug- 
ging you  in  my  arms,  you  were  so  generous,  and — and  so  kind^ 


276  THE  A  D  VENTURES  OF  PHIL  IP 

and  so  tender,  and  so  good,  by  George.  And  after  leaving  you, 
where  do  you  think  I  went  ?  " 

"I  think  I  can  guess,  Philip,"  says  Laura. 

"  Well,"  says  Philip,  winking  his  eyes  again,  and  tossing  ofif 
a  great  bumper  of  wine,  "  I  went  to  her,  of  course.  I  think  she 
is  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world.  The  old  man  was  out, 
and  I  told  her  about  everything  that  had  happened.  And  what 
do  you  think  she  has  done  ?  She  says  she  has  been  expecting 
me — she  has ;  and  she  has  gone  and  fitted  up  a  room  with  a 
nice  little  bed  at  the  top  of  the  house,  with  everything  as  neat 
and  trim  as  possible  ;  and  she  begged  and  prayed  I  would  go 
and  stay  with  her — and  I  said  I  would,  to  j^lease  her.  And 
then  she  takes  me  down  to  her  room  ;  and  she  jumps  up  to  a 
cupboard,  which  she  unlocks  ;  and  she  opens  and  takes  three- 
and-twenty  pounds  out  of  a — out  of  a  tea — out  of  a  tea-caddy — 
confound  me  ! — and  she  says,  '  Here,  Philip,"  she  says,  and — 
Boo  !  what  a  fool  I  am  !  "  and  here  the  orator  fairly  broke  down 
in  his  speech. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN    W?IICH    PHILIP    SHOWS    HIS    METTLE. 

When  the  poor  Little  Sister  proffered  her  mite,  her  all, 
to  Philip,  I  dare  say  some  sentimental  passages  occurred 
between  them  which  are  much  too  trivial  to  be  narrated.  No 
doubt  her  pleasure  would  have  been  at  that  moment  to  give 
him  not  only  that  gold  which  she  had  been  saving  up  against 
rent-day,  but  the  spoons,  the  furniture,  and  all  the  valuables  of 
the  house,  including,  perhaps,  J.  J-'s  bric-a-brac,  cabinets,  china, 
and  so  forth.  To  perform  a  kindness,  an  act  of  self-sacrifice  ; — 
are  not  these  the  most  delicious  privileges  of  female  tenderness  ? 
Philip  checked  his  little  friend's  enthusiasm.  He  showed  her 
a  purse  full  of  money,  at  which  sight  the  poor  little  soul  was 
rather  disappointed.  He  magnified  the  value  of  his  horses, 
which,  according  to  Philip's  calculation,  were  to  bring  him  at 
least  two  hundred  pounds  more  than  the  stock  which  he  had 
already  in  hand  ;  and  the  master  of  such  a  sum  as  this,  she  was 
forced  to  confess,  had  no  need  to  despair.  Indeed,  she  had 
never  in  lier  life  possessed  the  half  of  it.     Her  kind  dear  little 


ON  ms  IVA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


277 


offer  of  a  home  in  her  house  he  would  accept  sometimes,  and 
with  gratitude.  Well,  there  was  a  little  consolation  in  that.  In 
a  moment  that  active  little  housekeeper  saw  the  room  ready ; 
flowers  on  the  mantel-piece  ;  his  looking-glass,  which  her  father 
could  do  quite  well  with  the  little  one,  as  he  was  always  shaved 
by  the  barber  now  ;  the  quilted  counterpane,  which  she  had  her- 
self made  : — I  know  not  what  more  improvements  she  devised  ; 
and  I  fear  that  at  the  idea  of  having  Philip  with  her,  this  little 
thing  was  as  extravagantly  and  unreasonably  happy  as  we  have 
just  now  seen  Philip  to  be.  \A'hat  was  that  last  dish  which 
Paetus  and  Arria  shared  in  common  ?  I  have  lost  my  Lempriere's 
dictionary  (that  treasury  of  my  youth),  and  forget  whether  it 
was  a  cold  dagger  021  natiird,  or  a  dish  of  hot  coals  a  la  Romaine 
of  which  they  partook  ;  but,  whatever  it  was,  she  smiled,  and 
delightedly  received  it,  happy  to  share  the  beloved  one's 
fortune. 

Yes  :  Philip  would  come  home  to  his  Little  Sister  sometimes  : 
sometimes  of  a  Saturday,  and  they  would  go  to  church  on  Sun- 
day, as  he  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  boy  at  school.  "  But 
then,  you  know,"  says  Phil,  "  law  is  law  ;  study  is  study.  I 
must  devote  my  whole  energies  to  my  work — get  up  very  early." 

"  Don't  tire  your  eyes,  my  dear,"  interposes  Mr.  Philip's 
soft,  judicious  friend. 

"  There  must  be  no  trifling  with  work,"  says  Philip,  with 
awful  gravity.  "  There's  Benton  the  Judge  :  Benton  and 
Burbage,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  Benton  and  Burbage  !  "  whispers  the  Little  Sister,  not 
a  little  bewildered. 

"  How  do  you  suppose  he  became  a  judge  before  forty  ?  " 

"  Before  forty  who  ?  law,  bless  me  1  " 

"  Before  he  was  forty,  Mrs.  Carry.  When  he  came  to  work, 
he  had  his  own  way  to  make  :  just  like  me.  He  had  a  small 
allowance  from  his  father :  that's  not  like  me.  He  took 
chambers  in  the  Temple.  He  went  to  a  pleader's  ofifice.  He 
read  fourteen,  fifteen  hours  every  day.  He  dined  on  a  cup  of 
tea  and  a  mutton-chop." 

"  La,  bless  me,  child !  I  wouldn't  have  you  to  do  that,  not  to 
be  Lord  Chamberlain — Chancellor  what's  his  name  ?  Destroy 
your  youth  with  reading,  and  your  eyes,  and  go  without  your 
dinner  ?  You're  not  used  to  that  sort  of  thing,  dear  ;  and  it 
would  kill  you  !  " 

Philip  smoothed  his  fair  hair  off  his  ample  forehead,  and 
nodded  his  head,  smiling  sweetly.  I  think  his  inward  monitor 
hinted  to  him  that  there  was  not  much  danger  of  his  killing 


278  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

himself  by  over  work.  "  To  succeed  at  the  law,  as  in  all  othet 
professions,"  he  continued,  with  much  gravity,  "  requires  the 
greatest  perseverance,  and  industry,  and  talent ;  and  then,  per- 
haps, you  don't  succeed.  Many  have  failed  who  have  had  all 
these  qualities."     . 

"  But  they  haven't  talents  like  my  Philip,  I  know  they 
haven't.  And  I  had  to  stand  up  in  a  court  once,  and  was  cross- 
examined  by  a  vulgar  man  before  a  horrid  deaf  old  judge ;  and 
I'm  sure  if  your  lawyers  are  like  them  I  don't  wish  you  to  suc- 
ceed at  all.  And  now,  look !  there's  a  nice  loin  of  pork  coming 
up.  Pa  loves  roast  pork  ;  and  you  must  come  and  have  some 
with  us  ;  and  every  day  and  all  days,  my  dear,  I  should  like  to 
see  you  seated  there."  And  the  Little  Sister  frisked  about  here, 
and  bustled  there,  and  brought  a  cunning  bottle  of  wine  from 
some  con>er,  and  made  the  boy  welcome.  So  that,  you  see, 
far  from  starving,  he  actually  had  two  dinners  on  that  first  day 
of  his  ruin. 

Caroline  consented  to  a  compromise  regarding  the  money, 
on  Philip's  solemn  vow  and  promise  that  she  should  be  his 
banker  whenever  necessity  called.  She  rather  desired  his 
poverty  for  the  sake  of  its  precious  reward.  She  hid  away  a 
little  bag  of  gold  for  her  darling's  use  whenever  he  should  need 
it.  I  dare  say  she  pinched  and  had  shabby  dinners  at  home, 
so  as  to  save  yet  more,  and  so  caused  the  Captain  to  grumble. 
Why,  for  that  boy's  sake,  I  believe  she  would  have  been  capable 
of  shaving  her  lodgers'  legs  of  mutton,  and  levying  a  tax  on 
their  tea-caddies  and  baker's  stuff.  If  you  don't  like  unprin- 
cipled attachments  of  this  sort,  and  only  desire  that  your  woman- 
kind should  love  you  for  yourself,  and  according  to  your  deserts, 
I  am  your  very  humble  servant.  Hereditary  bondswomen ! 
you  know,  that  were  you  free,  and  did  you  strike  the  blow,  my 
dears,  you  were  unhappy  for  your  pain,  and  eagerly  would  claim 
your  bonds  again.  What  poet  has  uttered  that  sentiment.^  It 
is  perfectly  true,  and  I  know  will  receive  the  cordial  approba- 
tion of  the  dear  ladies. 

Philip  has  decreed  in  his  own  mind  that  he  will  go  and  live 
in  those  chambers  in  the  Temple  where  we  have  met  him.  Van 
John,  the  sporting  gentleman,  had  determined  for  special  reasons 
to  withdraw  from  law  and  sport  in  this  country,  and  Mr.  Firmin 
took  possession  of  his  vacant  sleeping-chamber.  To  furnish  a 
bachelor's  bedroom  need  not  be  a  matter  of  much  cost ;  but 
Mr.  Philip  was  too  good-natured  a  fellow  to  haggle  about  the 
valuation  of  Van  John's  bedsteads  and  chests  of  drawers,  and 
generously  took  them  at  twice  their  value.    He  and  Mr.  Cassidy 


Or^  ins  WAY  THROUGir  THE  WORLD.  279 

now  divided  the  rooms  in  equal  reign.  Ah,  happy  rooms, 
bright  rooms,  rooms  near  the  sky,  to  remember  you  is  to  be 
young  again  !  for  I  would  have  you  to  know  that  when  Philip 
went  to  take  possession  of  his  share  of  the  fourth  floor  in  the 
Temple,  his  biographer  was  still  comparatively  juvenile,  and  in 
one  or  two  very  old-fashioned  families  was  called  "young 
Pendennis." 

So  Philip  Firmin  dwelt  in  a  garret ;  and  the  fourth  part  of 
a  laundress  and  the  half  of  a  boy  now  formed  the  domestic 
establishment  of  him  who  had  been  attended  by  housekeepers, 
butlers,  and  obsequious  liveried  menials.  To  be  freed  from 
that  ceremonial  and  etiquette  of  plush  and  worsted  lace  was 
an  immense  relief  to  Firmin.  His  pipe  need  not  lurk  in  crypts 
or  back  closets  now  :  its  fragrance  breathed  over  the  whole 
chambers,  and  rose  up  to  the  sky,  their  near  neighbor. 

The  first  month  or  two  after  being  ruined,  Philip  vowex:!, 
was  an  uncommonly  pleasant  time.  He  had  still  plenty  of 
money  in  his  pocket ;  and  the  sense  that,  perhaps,  it  was  im- 
prudent to  take  a  cab  or  drink  a  bottle  of  wine,  added  a  zest 
to  those  enjoyments  which  they  by  no  means  possessed  when 
they  were  easy  and  of  daily  occurrence.  I  am  not  certain  that 
a  dinner  of  beef  and  portef  did  not  amuse  our  young  man 
almost  as  well  as  banquets  much  more  costly  to  which  he  had 
been  accustomed.  He  laughed  at  the  pretensions  of  his  boyish 
days,  when  he  and  other  solemn  young  epicures  used  to  sit 
down  to  elaborate  tavern  banquets,  and  pretend  to  criticize  vin- 
tages, and  sauces,  and  turtle.  As  yet  there  was  not  only  con- 
tent with  his  dinner,  but  plenty  therewith ;  and  I  do  not  wish 
to  alarm  you  by  supposing  that  Philip  will  ever  have  to  encounter 
any  dreadful  extremities  of  poverty  or  hunger  in  the  course  of 
his  history.  The  wine  in  the  jug  was  very  low  at  times,  but  it 
never  was  quite  empty.  This  lamb  was  shorn,  but  the  wind 
was  tempered  to  him. 

So  Philip  took  possession  of  his  rooms  in  the  Temple,  and 
began  actually  to  reside  there  just  as  the  long  vacation  com- 
menced, which  he  intended  to  devote  to  a  course  of  serious 
study  of  the  law  and  private  preparation,  before  he  should  ven- 
ture on  the  great  business  of  circuit  and  the  bar.  Nothing  is 
more  necessary  for  desk-men  than  exercise,  so  Philip  took  a 
good  deal ;  especially  on  the  water,  where  he  pulled  a  famous 
oar.  Nothing  is  more  natural  after  exercise  than  refreshment ; 
and  Mr.  Firmin,  now  he  was  too  poor  for  claret,  showed  a  great 
capacity  for  beer.  After  beer  and  bodily  labor,  rest,  of  course, 
is  necessary ;  and  Firmin  slept  nine  hours,  and  looked  as  rosy 


28o  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

as  a  girl  in  her  first  season.  Then  such  a  man,  with  such  t 
frame  and  health,  must  have  a  good  appetite  for  breakfast. 
And  then  every  man  who  wishes  to  succeed  at  the  bar,  in  the 
senate,  on  the  bench,  in  the  House  of  Peers,  on  the  Woolsack, 
must  know  the  quotidian  history  of  his  country ;  so,  of  course, 
Philip  read  the  newspaper.  Thus,  you  see,  his  hours  of  study 
were  perforce  curtailed  by  the  necessary  duties  which  dis- 
tracted him  from  his  labors. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mr.  Firmin's  companion  in  chambers, 
Mr.  Cassidy,  was  a  native  of  the  neighboring  kingdom  of  Ire- 
land, and  engaged  in  literary  pursuits  in  this  country.  A  merry, 
shrewd,  silent,  observant  little  man,  he,  unlike  some  of  his 
compatriots,  always  knew  how  to  make  both  ends  meet ;  feared 
no  man  alive  in  the  character  of  a  dun  ;  and  out  of  small  earn- 
ings managed  to  transmit  no  small  comforts  and  subsidies  to 
old  parents  living  somewhere  in  Munster.  Of  Cassidy's  friends 
was  Finucane,  now  editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  he  mar- 
ried the  widow  of  the  late  eccentric  and  gifted  Captain  Shan- 
don,  and  Cass  himself  was  the  fashionable  correspondent  of 
the  Gazette,  chronicling  the  marriages,  deaths,  births,  dinner- 
parties of  the  nobility.  These  Irish  gentlemen  knew  other 
Irish  gentlemen,  connected  with  other  newspapers,  who  formed 
a  little  literary  society.  They  assembled  at  each  other's  rooms, 
and  at  haunts  where  social  pleasure  was  to  be  purchased  at  no 
dear  rate.  Philip  Firmin  was  known  to  many  of  them  before 
his  misfortunes  occurred,  and  when  there  was  gold  in  plenty  in 
his  pocket,  and  never-failing  applause  for  his  songs. 

When  Pendennis  and  his  friends  wrote  in  this  newspaper, 
it  was  impertinent  enough,  and  many  men  must  have  heard  the 
writers  laugh  at  the  airs  which  they  occasionally  thought  proper 
to  assume.  The  tone  which  they  took  amused,  annoyed,  tickled, 
was  popular.  It  was  continued,  and,  of  course,  caricatured  by 
their  successors.  They  worked  for  very  moderate  fees  :  but 
paid  themselves  by  impertinence,  and  the  satisfaction  of  assail- 
ing their  betters.  Three  or  four  persons  were  reserved  from 
their  abuse ;  but  somebody  was  sure  every  week  to  be  tied  up 
at  their  post,  and  the  public  made  sport  of  the  victim's  con- 
tortions. The  writers  were  obscure  barristers,  usliers,  and 
college  men,  but  they  had  omniscience  at  their  pens'  end,  and 
were  ready  to  lay  down  the  law  on  any  given  subject — to  teach 
any  man  his  business,  were  it  a  bishop  in  his  pulpit,  a  Minister 
in  his  place  in  the  Mouse,  a  captain  on  his  quarter-deck,  a  tailor 
on  his  shop-board,  or  a  jockey  in  his  saddle. 

Since  those  early  days  •  of    the  fall  Mall  Gazette,  when 


OM  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  28 1 

aid  Shandon  wielded  his  truculent  tomahawk,  and  Messrs, 
W-rr-ngt-n  and  P-nd-nn-s  followed  him  in  the  war  path,  the 
Gazette  had  passed  through  several  hands  ;  and  the  victims 
who  were  immolated  by  the  editors  of  to-day  were  very  likely 
the  objects  of  the  best  puffery  of  the  last  dynasty.  To  be 
flogged  in  what  was  your  own  schoolroom — that,  surely,  is  a 
queer  sensation  ;  and  when  my  Report  was  published  on  the 
decay  of  the  sealing-wax  trade  in  the  three  kingdoms  (owing  to 
the  prevalence  of  gummed  envelopes, — as  you  may  see  in  that 
masterly  document)  I  was  horsecl  up  and  smartly  whipped  in 
the  Gazette  by  some  of  the  rods  which  had  come  out  of  pickle 
since  my  time.  Was  hot  good  Dr.  Guillotin  executed  by  his 
own  neat  invention  ?  I  don't  know  who  was  the  Monsieur 
Sanson  who  operated  on  me  ;  but  have  always  had  my  idea 
that  Digges,  of  Corpus,  was  the  man  to  whom  my  flagellation 
was  entrusted.  His  father  keeps  a  ladies'  school  at  Hackney  ; 
but  there  is  an  air  of  fashion  in  everything  which  Digges  writes, 
and  a  chivalrous  conservatism  which  makes  me  pretty  certain 
that  D.  was  my  scarifier.  All  this,  however,  is  naught.  Let  us 
turn  away  from  the  author's  private  griefs  and  egotisms  to 
those  of  the  hero  of  the  story. 

Does  any  one  remember  the  appearance  some  twenty  years 
ago  of  a  little  book  called  "  Trumpet  Calls  " — a  book  of  songs 
and  poetry,  dedicated  to  his  brother  officers  by  Cornet  Canter- 
ton  ?  His  trumpet  was  very  tolerably  melodious,  and  the  cor- 
net played  some  small  airs  on  it  with  some  little  grace  and 
skill.  But  this  poor  Canterton  belonged  to  the  Life-Guards 
Green,  and  Philip  Firmin  would  have  liked  to  have  the  lives 
of  one  or  two  troops  at  least  of  that  corps.  Entering  into  Mr, 
Cassidy's  room,  Philip  found  the  little  volume.  He  set  to 
work  to  exterminate  Canterton.  He  rode  him  down,  trampled 
over  his  face  and  carcase,  knocked  the  "  Trumpet  Calls  "  and 
all  the  teeth  down  the  trumpeter's  throat.  Never  was  such  a 
smashing  article  as  he  wrote.  And  Mugford,  Mr.  Cassidy's 
chief  and  owner,  who  likes  always  to  have  at  least  one  man 
served  up  and  hashed  small  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  happened 
at  this  very  juncture  to  have  no  other  victim  ready  in  his  lar- 
der. Philip's  review  appeared  there  in  print.  He  rushed  off 
with  immense  glee  to  Westminster,  to  show  us  his  performance. 
Nothing  must  content  him  but  to  give  a  dinner  at  Greenwich 
on  his  success.  Oh,  Philip  !  We  wished  that  this  had  not 
been  his  first  fee  ;  and  that  sober  law  had  given  it  to  him,  and 
not  the  graceless  and  fickle  muse  with  whom  he  had  been 
flirting.     For,  truth  to  say,  certain  wise  old  heads  which  wag- 


23 2  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PIJILIP 

ged  over  his  performance  could  see  but  little  merit  in  it.  His 
style  was  coarse,  his  wit  clumsy  and  savage.  Never  mind 
characterizing  either  now.  He  has  seen  the  error  of  his  ways, 
and  divorced  with  the  muse  whom  he  never  ought  to  have 
wooed. 

The  shrewd  Cassidy  not  only  could  not  write  himself,  but 
knew  he  could  not — or,  at  least,  pen  more  than  a  plain  para- 
graph, or  a  brief  sentence  to  the  point,  but  said  he  would  carry 
this  paper  to  his  chief.  "  His  Excellency  "  was  the  nickname 
by  wiiich  this  chief  was  called  by  liis  familiars.  IMugford — ■ 
Frederick  Mugford  was  his  real  name — and  putting  out  of  sight 
that  little  defect  in  his  character,  that  he  committed  a  system- 
atic literary  murder  once  a  week,  a  more  worthy  good-natured 
little  murderer  did  not  li\e.  He  came  of  the  old  school  of  the 
press.  Like  French  marshals,  he  had  risen  from  the  ranks,, 
and  retained  some  of  the  manners  and  oddities  of  the  private 
soldier.  A  new  race  of  writers  had  grown  up  since  he  enlisted 
as  a  printer's  boy — men  of  the  world,  with  the  manners  of 
other  gentlemen.  Mugford  never  professed  the  least  gentility. 
He  knew  that  his  young  men  laughed  at  his  peculiarities,  and 
did  not  care  a  fig  for  their  scorn.  As  the  knife  with  which  he 
conveyed  his  victuals  to  his  mouth  went  down  his  throat  at  the 
plenteous  banquets  which  he  gave,  he  saw  his  young  friends 
wince  and  wonder,  and  rather  relish  their  surprise.  Those 
lips  never  cared  in  the  least  about  placing  his  li's  in  right 
places.  They  used  bad  language  with  great  freedom — (to  hear 
him  bullying  a  printing  office  was  a  wonder  of  eloquence) — 
but  they  betrayed  no  secrets,  and  the  words  which  they  uttered 
you  might  trust.  He  had  belonged  to  two  or  three  parties, 
and  had  respected  them  all.  When  he  went  to  the  Under- 
Secretary's  office  he  was  never  kept  waiting;  and  once  or 
twice  Mrs.  Mugford,  who  governed  him,  ordered  him  to  attend 
the  Saturday  reception  of  the  Ministers'  ladies,  where  he  might 
be  seen,  with  dirty  hands,  it  is  true,  but  a  richly  embroidered 
waistcoat  and  fancy  satin  tie.  His  heart,  however,  was  not  in 
these  entertainments.  I  have  heard  him  say  that  he  only  came 
because  Mrs.  M.  would  have  it ;  and  he  frankly  owned  that  he 
"  would  rather  'ave  a  pipe,  and  a  drop  of  something  'ot,  than 
all  your  ices  and  rubbish." 

Mugford  had  a  curious  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  world,  and  of  the  affairs  of  countless  people.  When  Cass 
brought  Philip's  article  to  his  Excellency,  and  mentioned  the 
author's  name,  Mugford  sliowed  himself  to  be  perfectly  familiar 
with  the  histories  of  Philip  and  his  father.     "  The  old  chap  has 


OjV  his  IVA  y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD  283 

nobbled  the  j-oung  fellow's  mone)',  almost  every  shilling  of  it,  I 
hear.  Knew  he  never  would  carry  on.  His  discounts  would 
have  killed  any  man.  Seen  his  paper  about  this  ten  year. 
Young  one  is  a  gentleman — passionate  fellow,  hawhaw  fellow, 
but  kind  to  the  poor.  Father  never  was  a  gentleman,  with  al' 
his  fine  airs  and  fine  waistcoats.  I  don't  set  up  in  that  line 
myself,  Cass,  but  I  tell  you  I  know  'em  when  I  see  'em." 

Philip  had  friends  and  private  patrons  whose  influence  was 
great  with  the  Mugford  family,  and  of  whom  he  little  knew. 
Ever}'  year  Mrs.  M.  was  in  the  habit  of  contributing  a  Mugford 
to  the  world.  She  was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  most  regular 
clients  ;  and  year  after  year,  almost  from  his  first  arrival  in 
London,  Ridley,  the  painter,  had  been-  engaged  as  portrait- 
painter  to  this  worthy  family.  Philip  and  his  illness  ;  Philip 
and  his  horses,  splendors,  and  entertainments ;  Philip  and  his 
lamentable  downfall  and  ruin,  had  formed  the  subject  of 
many  an  interesting  talk  between  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her 
friend  the  Little  Sister  ;  and  as  w^e  know  Caroline's  infatua- 
tion about  the  young  fellow,  we  may  suppose  that  his  good 
qualities  lost  nothing  in  the  description.  When  that  article  in 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  appeared,  Nurse  Brandon  took  the  omni- 
bus to  Haverstock  Hill,  where,  as  you  know,  Mugford  had  his 
villa  ; — arrived  at  Mrs.  Mugford's,  Gazette  in  hand,  and  had  a 
long  and  delightful  conversation  with  that  lady.  Mrs.  Brandon 
bought  I  don't  know  how  many  copies  of  th'a.t  Fall  Mall  Gazette. 
She  now  asked  for  it  repeatedly  in  her  walks  at  sundry  ginger- 
beer  shops,  and  of  all  sorts  of  news-vendors.  I  have  heard 
that  when  the  Mugfords  first  purchased  the  Gazette,  Mrs.  M. 
used  to  drop  bills  from  her  pony-chaise,  and  distribute  placards 
setting  forth  the  excellence  of  the  journal.  "  We  keep  our 
carriage,  but  we  ain't  above  our  business,  Brandon,"  that  good 
lady  would  say.  And  the  business  prospered  under  the  man- 
agement of  these  worthy  folks  ;  and  the  pony-chaise  unfolded 
into  a  noble  barouche  ;  and  the  pony  increased  and  multiplied, 
and  became  a  pair  of  horses  ;  and  there  was  not  a  richer  piece 
of  gold-lace  round  any  coachman's  hat  in  London  than  now 
decorated  John,  who  had  grown  with  the  growth  of  his  master's 
fortunes,  and  drove  the  chariot  in  which  his  worthy  employers 
rode  on  the  way  to  Hampstead,  honor,  and  prosperity. 

"  All  this  pitching  into  the  poet  is  very  well,  you  know,  Cas- 
sidy,"  says  Mugford  to  his  subordinate.  "  It's  like  shooting  a  but- 
terfly with  a  blunderbuss  ;  but  if  Firmin  likes  that  kind  of  sport,  I 
don't  mind.  There  won't  be  any  difficulty  about  taking  his  copy  at 
our  place.  The  duchess  knows  another  old  woman  who  is  a  friend 


284  TITE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

of  l)is  ''  (•*  ihe  duchess  "  was  the  title  which  Mr.  Mugford  was  in 
the  playful  habit  of  conferring  upon  his  wife).  "  It's  my  belief 
young  Y.  had  better  stick  to  the  law,  and  leave  the  writing  rub- 
bish alone.  But  he  knows  his  own  affairs  best,  and,  mind  you, 
the  duchess  is  determined  we  shall  give  him  a  helping  hand." 

Once,  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity,  and  in  J.  J.'s  company, 
Philip  had  visited  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her  family — a  circumstance 
which  the  gentleman  had  almost  forgotten.  The  painter  and 
his  friend  were  taking  a  Sunday  walk,  and  came  upon  Mug- 
ford's  pretty  cottage  and  garden,  and  were  hospitably  enter- 
tained there  by  the  owners  of  the  place.  It  has  disappeared, 
and  the  old  garden  has  long  since  been  covered  by  terraces 
and  villas,  and  Mugford,  and  Mrs.  M.,  good  souls,  where  are 
they?  -But  the  lady  thought  she  had  never  seen  such  a  fine- 
looking  young  fellow  as  Philip ;  cast  about  in  her  mind  which 
of  her  little  female  Mugfords  should  marry  him  ;  and  insisted 
upon  offering  her  guest  champagne.  Poor  Phil !  So,  you  see, 
whilst,  perhaps,  he  was  rather  pluming  himself  upon  his  literary 
talv°nt,  and  imagining  that  he  was  a  clever  fellow,  he  was  only 
the  object  of  a  job  on  the  part  of  two  or  three  good  folks,  who 
knew  his  history,  and  compassionated  his  misfortunes. 

Mugford  recalled  himself  to  Philip's  recollection,  when 
they  met  after  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Phil's  first  performance 
in  the  Gazette.  If  he  still  took  a  sundry  walk,  Hampstead  way, 
Mr.  M.  requested  him  to  remember  that  there  was  a  slice  of 
beef  and  a  glass  of  wine  at  the  old  shop.  Philip  remembered 
it  well  enough  now  :  the  ugly  room,  the  ugly  family,  the  kind 
worthy  people.  Ere  long  he  learned  what  had  been  Mrs.  Bran- 
don's connection  with  them,  and  the  young  man's  heart  was 
softened  and  grateful  as  he  thought  how  this  kind,  gentle  crea- 
ture had  been  able  to  befriend  him.  She,  we  may  be  sure,  was 
not  a  little  proud  of  her  protege.  I  believe  she  grew  to  fancy 
that  the  whole  newspaper  was  written  by  Philip.  She  made 
her  fond  parent  read  it  aloud  as  she  worked.  Mr,  Ridley, 
senior,  pronounced  it  was  remarkably  fine,  really  now  ;  without, 
I  think,  entirely  comprehending  the  meaning  of  the  sentiments 
which  Mr.  Gann  gave  forth  in  his  rich  loud  voice,  and  often 
dropping  asleep  in  his  chair  during  this  sermon. 

In  the  autumn,  Mr.  Firmin's  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penden- 
nis,  selected  the  romantic  seaport  town  of  Boulogne  for  theii 
holiday  residence  ;  and  having  roomy  quarters  in  the  old  town, 
we  gave  Mr.  Philip  an  invitation  to  pay  us  a  visit  whenever  he 
could  tear  himself  away  from  literature  and  law.  He  came  in 
high  spirits.     He  amused  us  by  imitations  and  descriptions  of 


ON-  HIS  WAY  TITROUGir  THP.    WORLD. 


2S5 


his  new  proprietor  and  master,  Mr.  !Mugford — his  bhintlcrs,  his 
bad  language,  his  good  heart.  One  day,  Mugford  expected  a 
celebrated  literary  character  to  dinner,  and  Philip  and  Cassidy 
were  invited  to  meet  him.  The  great  man  was  ill,  and  was 
unable  to  come.  "Don't  dish  up  the  side-dishes,"  called  out 
Mugford  to  his  cook,  in  the  hearing  of  his  other  guests.  "  Mr. 
Lyon  ain't  a  coming."  They  dined  quite  sufficiently  without 
the  side-dishes,  and  were  perfectly  cheerful  in  the  absence  of 
the  lion.  Mugford  patronized  his  young  men  with  amusmg 
good-nature.  "  Firmin,  cut  the  goose  for  the  duchess,  will 
you  "i  Cass  can't  say  Bo  !  to  one,  he  can't.  Ridley,  a  little  of 
the  stuffing.  It'll  make  your  hair  curl."  And  Philip  was  going 
to  imitate  a  frightful  act  with  the  cold  steel  (with  which  I  have 
said  Philip's  master  used  to  convey  food  to  his  mouth),  but  our 
dear  innocent  third  daughter  uttered  a  shriek  of  terror,  which 
caused  him  to  drop  the  dreadful  weapon.  Our  darling  little 
Florence  is  a  nervous  child,  and  the  sight  of  an  edged  tool 
causes  her  anguish,  ever  since  our  darling  little  Tom  nearly  cut 
his  thumb  off  with  his  father's  razor. 

Our  main  amusement  in  this  delightful  place  was  to  look  at 
the  sea-sick  landing  from  the  steamers ;  and  one  day,  as  we 
witnessed  this  phenomenon,  Philip  sprang  to  the  ropes  which 
divided  us  from  the  arriving  passengers,  and  with  a  cry  of 
"  How  do  you  do,  General  ?  "  greeted  a  yellow-faced  gentleman, 
who  started  back,  and,  to  my  thinking,  seemed  but  ill  inclined 
to  reciprocate  Philip's  friendly  greeting.  The  General  was 
fluttered,  no  doubt,  by  the  bustle  and  interruptions  incidental 
to  the  landing.  A  pallid  lady,  the  partner  of  his  existence  prob- 
ably, was  calling  out,  "  Noof  et  doo  domestiques,  Doo !  "  to 
the  sentries  who  kept  the  line,  and  who  seemed  little  interested 
by  this  family  news.  A  governess,  a  tall  young  lady,  and 
several  more  male  and  female  children,  followed  the  pale  lad}', 
who,  as  I  thought,  looked  strangely  frightened  when  the  gentle- 
man addressed  as  General  communicated  to  her  Philip's  name. 
''  Is  that  him  ? "  said  the  lady  in  questionable  grammar  ;  and 
the  tall  young  lady  turned  a  pair  of  large  eyes  upon  the  indi- 
vidual designated  as  "him,"  and  showed  a  pair  of  dank  ring- 
lets, out  of  which  the  envious  sea-nymphs  had  shaken  all  the 
curl. 

The  general  turned  out  to  be  General  Baynes  ;  the  pale  lady 
was  Mrs.  General  B. ;  the  tall  young  lady  was  Miss  Charlotte 
Baynes,  the  General's  eldest  child  \  and  the  other  six,  formmg 
nine,  or  "noof,"  in  all,  as  Mrs.  General  B.  said,  were  the  other 
members  of  the  Baynes  family.     And  here  I  may  as  well  say 


2S6  THE  ADVENTUKES  OF  PHILIP 

why  the  General  looked  alarmed  on  seeing  Philip,  and  why  the 
General's  lady  frowned  at  him.  In  action,  one  of  the  bravest 
of  men,  in  common  life  General  Baynes  was  timorous  and  weak. 
Specially  he  was  afraid  of  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  who  ruled  him 
Avith  a  vigorous  authority.  As  Philip's  trustee,  he  had  allowed 
Philip's  father  to  make  away  with  the  boy's  money.  He  learned 
with  a  ghastly  terror  that  he  was  answerable  for  his  own  remiss- 
ness and  want  of  care.  For  a  long  while  he  did  not  dare  to  tell 
his  commander-in-chief  of  this  dreadful  penalty  which  was  hang- 
ing over  him.  When  at  last  he  ventured  upon  this  confession, 
I  do  not  envy  him  the  scene  which  must  have  ensued  between 
him  and  his  commanding  officer.  The  morning  after  the  fatal 
confession,  when  the  children  assembled  for  breakfast  and 
prayers,  Mrs.  Baynes  gave  their  young  ones  their  porridge  :  she 
and  Charlotte  poured  out  the  tea  and  coffee  for  the  elders,  and 
then  addressing  her  eldest  son  Ochterlony,  she  said,  "  Ocky, 
my  boy,  the  General  has  announced  a  charming  piece  of  news 
this  morning." 

**  Bought  that  pony,  sir  ?  "  says  Ocky. 

"  Oh,  what  jolly  fun  !  "  says  Moira,  the  second  son. 

"  Dear,  dear  papa  !  what's  the  matter,  and  why  do  you  look 
so  ?  "  cries  Charlotte,  looking  behind  her  father's  paper. 

Tliat  guilty  man  would  fain  have  made  a  shroud  of  his 
Morning  Herald.  He  would  have  flung  the  sheet  over  his. 
whole  body,  and  lain  hidden  there  from  all  ej^es. 

"  The  fun,  my  dears,  is  that  your  father  is  ruined  :  that's 
the  fun.  Eat  your  porridge  now,  little  ones.  Charlotte,  pop 
a  bit  of  butter  in  Carrick's  jDorridge ;  for  you  mayn't  have  any 
to-morrow." 

"Oh,  gammon,"  cries  Moira. 

"  You'll  soon  see  whether  it  is  gammon  or  not,  sir,  when 
you'll  be  starving,  sir.  Your  father  has  ruined  us — and  a  very 
pleasant  morning's  work,  I  am  sure." 

And  she  calmly  rubs  the  nose  of  her  youngest  child  who  is 
near  her,  and  too  young,  and  innocent,  and  careless,  perhaps, 
of  the  world's  censure  as  yet  to  keep  in  a  strict  cleanliness  her 
own  dear  little  snub  nose  and  dappled  cheeks. 

"  We  are  only  ruined,  and  shall  be  starving  soon,  my  dears, 
and  if  the  General  has  bought  a  pony — as  I  dare  say  he  has ; 
he  is  quite  capable  of  buying  a  pony  when  we  are  starving — 
the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  eat  the  pony.  M'Grigor,  don't 
laugh.  Starvation  is  no  laughing  matter.  When  we  were  at 
Dumdum,  in  '36,  we  ate  some  colt.  Don't  you  remember 
Jubber's  colt — ^Jubber  of  the  Horse  Artillery,  General .?     Never 


ON  NTS  IVA  V  THROUarr  THE  WORLD.  287 

tasted  anything  more  tender  in  all  my  life.  Charlotte,  take 
Jany's  hands  out  of  the  marmalade  !  We  are  all  ruined,  my 
dears,  as  sure  as  our  name  is  Baynes."  Thus  did  the  mother 
of  the  family  prattle  on  in  the  midst  of  her  little  ones,  and  an- 
nounce to  them  the  dreadful  news  of  impending  starvation. 
"General  Baynes,  by  his  carelessness,  had  allowed  Dr.  Firmin 
to  make  away  with  the  money  over  which  the  General  had  been 
set  as  sentinel.  Philip  might  recover  from  the  trustee,  and  no 
doubt  would.  Perhaps  he  would  not  press  his  claim  ?  My 
dear,  what  can  you  expect  from  the  son  of  such  a  father? 
Depend  on  it,  Charlotte,  no  good  fruit  can  come  from  a  stock 
like  that.  The  son  is  a  bad  one,  the  father  is  a  bad  one,  and 
your  father,  poor  dear  soul,  is  not  fit  to  be  trusted  to  walk  the 
street  without  some  one  to  keep  him  from  tumbling.  Why  did 
I  allow  him  to  go  to  town  without  me  ?  We  were  quartered  at 
Colchester  then  :  and  I  could  not  move  on  account  of  your 
brother  M'Grigor.  '  Baynes,'  I  said  to  your  father,  '  as  sure 
as  I  let  you  go  away  to  town  without  me,  you  will  come  to  mis- 
chief.' And  go  he  did,  and  come  to  mischief  he  did.  And 
through  his  folly  I  and  my  poor  children  must  go  and  beg  our 
bread"  in  the  streets — I  and  my  seven  poor,  robbed,  penniless 
little  ones.     Oh,  it's  cruel,  cruel  !  " 

Indeed,  one  cannot  fancy  a  more  dismal  prospect  for  this 
worthy  mother  and  wife  than  to  see  her  children  without  pro- 
vision at  the  commencement  of  their  lives  and  her  luckless 
husband  robbed  of  his  life's  earnings,  and  ruined  just  when  he 
was  too  old  to  work. 

What  was  to  become  of  them }  Now  poor  Charlotte 
thought,  with  pangs  of  a  keen  remorse,  how  idle  she  had  been, 
and  how  she  had  snubbed  her  governesses,  and  how  little  she 
knew,  and  how  badly  she  played  the  piano.  Oh,  neglected 
opportunities !  Oh,  remorse,  now  the  time  was  past  and  irre- 
coverable !  Does  any  young  lady  read  this  who,  perchance, 
ought  to  be  doing  her  lessons  ?  My  dear,  lay  down  the  story- 
book at  once.  Go  up  your  schoolroom,  and  practise  your 
piano  for  two  hours  this  moment ;  so  that  you  may  be  prepared 
to  support  your  family,  should  ruin  in  any  case  fall  upon  you. 
A  great  girl  of  sixteen,  I  pity  Charlotte  Baynes's  feelings  of 
anguish.  She  can't  write  a  very  good  hand  ;  she  can  scarcely 
answer  any  question  to  speak  of  in  any  educational  books  ; 
her  pianoforte  playing  is  verj'  very  so-so  indeed.  If  she  is  to 
go  out  and  get  a  living  for  the  family,  how,  in  the  name  of 
goodness,  is  she  to  set  about  it  ?  What  are  they  to  do  with 
the  boys,  and  the  money  that  has  been  put  away  for  Ochterlony 


288  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHI  UP 

when  he  goes  to  college,  and  for  Moira's  commission  ?  "  Why, 
we  can't  afford  to  keep  them  at  Dr.  Pybus's,  where  they  were 
doing  so  well ;  and  they  were  ever  so  much  better  and  more 
gentlemanlike  than  Colonel  Chandler's  boys ;  and  to  lose  the 
army  will  break  Moira's  heart,  it  will.  And  the  little  ones,  my 
little  blue-eyed  Carrick,  and  my  darling  Jany,  and  my  Mary, 
that  I  nursed  almost  miraculously  out  of  her  scarlet  fever.  God 
help  them  !  God  help  us  all  !  "  thinks  the  poor  mother.  No 
wonder  that  her  nights  are  wakeful,  and  her  heart  in  a  tumult 
of  alarm  at  the  idea  of  the  impending  danger. 

And  the  father  of  the  family  ? — the  stout  old  General  whose 
battles  and  campaigns  are  over,  who  has  come  home  to  rest  his 
war-worn  limbs,  and  make  his  peace  with  heaven  ere  it  calls 
him  away — what  m«st  be  his  feelings  when  he  thinks  that  he 
has  been  entrapped  by  a  villain  into  committing  an  imprudence 
which  makes  his  children  penniless  and  himself  dishonored 
and  a  beggar  ?  When  he  found  what  Dr.  Firmin  had  done, 
and  how  he  had  been  clieated,  he  went  away,  aghast,  to  his 
lawyer,  who  could  give  him  no  help.  Philip's  mother's  trustee 
was  answerable  to  Philip  for  his  property.  It  had  been  stolen 
through  Baynes's  own  carelessness,  and  the  law  bound  him  to 
replace  it.  General  Baynes's  man  of  business  could  not  help 
him  out  of  his  perplexity  at  all ;  and  I  hope  my  worthy  reader 
is  not  going  to  be  too  angry  with  the  General  for  what  he  did. 
You  never  would,  my  dear  sir,  I  know.  No  power  on  earth 
would  induce jj'i?«  to  depart  one  inch  from  the  path  of  rectitude  ; 
or,  having  done  an  act  of  imprudence,  to  shrink  from  bearing 
the  consequence.  The  long  and  short  of  the  matter  is,  that 
poor  Baynes  and  his  wife,  after  holding  agitated,  stealthy 
councils  together — after  believing  that  every  strange  face  they 
.saw  was  a  bailiff's  coming  to  arrest  them  on  Philip's  account — 
after  horrible  days  of  remorse,  misery,  guilt — I  say  the  long  and 
the  short  ef  the  matter  was  that  these  poor  people  determined 
to  run  away.  They  would  go  and  hide  themselves  anywhere — 
in  an  impenetrable  pine  forest  in  Norway — up  an  inaccessible 
mountain  in  Switzerland.  They  would  change  their  names ; 
dye  their  mustaches  and  honest  old  white  liair  ;  fly  w'ith  their 
little  ones  away,  away,  away,  out  of  the  reach  of  law  and  Philip  ; 
and  the  first  flight  lands  them  on  Boulogne  Pier,  and  there  is 
Mr.  Philip  holding  out  his  hand  and  actually  eyeing  them  as 
they  get  out  of  the  steamer  !  Eyeing  them  ?  It  is  the  eye  of 
heaven  that  is  on  those  criminals.  Holding  out  his  hand  to 
tliem  ?  It  is  the  hand  of  fate  that  is  on  their  wretched  shoul- 
ders.    No  wonder  they  shuddered   and    turned  pale.     That 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


289 


which  I  took  for  sea-sickness,  I  am  sorry  to  say  was  a  guilty 
conscience  :  and  \yhere  is  the  steward,  my  dear  friends,  who 
can  reUeve  us  of  that  ? 

As  this  party  came  staggering  out  of  the  Custom-house,  poor 
Baynes  still  found  Philip's  hand  stretched  out  to  catch  hold  of 
him,  and  saluted  him  with  a  ghastly  cordiality.  "These  are 
your  children,  General,  and  this  is  Mrs.  Baynes  ? "  says  Philip, 
smiling,  and  taking  off  his  hat. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I'm  Mrs.  General  Baynes  1 "  says  the  poor 
woman  ;  "  and  these  are  the  children — yes,  yes.  Charlotte,  this 
is  Mr.  Firmin,  of  whom  you  have  heard  us  speak ;  and  these  are 
my  boys,  Moira  and  Ochterlony." 

"  I  have  had  the  honor  of  meeting  General  Baynes  at  Old 
Parr  Street.  Don't  you  remember,  sir  ?  "  says  Mr.  Pendennis, 
with  great  affability  to  the  General. 

"What,  another  who  knows  me?"  I  dare  say  the  poor 
wretch  thinks  ;  and  glances  of  a  dreadful  meaning  pass  between 
the  guilty  wife  and  the  guilty  husband. 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  at  any  hotel  ?  " 

"'Hotel  des  Bains!""  "'Hotel  du  Nord ! '"  "'Hotel 
d'Angleterre  ! '  "  here  cry  twenty  commissioners  in  a  breath. 

"  Hotel  ?  Oh,  yes  !  That  is,  we  have  not  made  up  our 
minds  whether  we  shall  go  on  to-night  or  whether  we  shall  stay," 
say  those  guilty  ones,  looking  at  one  another,  and  then  down 
to  the  ground  ;  on  which  one  of  the  children,  with  a  roar, 
says — 

"  Oh,  ma,  what  a  story  !  You  said  you'd  stay  to-night  :  and 
I  was  so  sick  in  the  beastly  boat  and  1  won't  travel  any  more  !  " 
And  tears  choke  his  artless  utterance.  "And  you  said  Bang 
to  the  man  who  took  your  keys,  you  know  you  did,"  resumes 
the  innocent,  as  soon  as  he  can  gasp  a  further  remark. 

"  Who  told  you  to  speak  .-* "  cried  mamma,  giving  the  boy  a 
shake. 

"This  is  the  way  to  the  'Hotel  des  Bains,'"  says  Philip, 
making  Miss  Baynes  another  of  his  best  bows.  And  Miss 
Baynes  makes  a  curtsev,  and  her  eyes  look  up  at  the  handsome 
young  man — large  brown  honest  eyes  in  a  comely  round  face, 
on  each  side  of  which  depend  two  straight  wisps  of  brown  hair 
that  were  ringlets  when  they  left  Folkestone  a  few  hours  since. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  look  at  those  women  with  the  short  petticoats  ! 
and  wooden  shoes,  bv  George  !  Oh  !  it's  jolly,  ain't  it  ? '"  crie? 
one  young  gentleman. 

"  By  George,  there's  a  man  with  earrings  on  !  I'here  is, 
Ocky,  upon  mv  word !  "  calls  out  another.     And  the  elder  boy, 

19 


2(jo  ^■^^'  ADVEXrURES  OE  PHILIP 

turning  round  to  his  father,  points  to  some  soldiers.  "  Did  you 
ever  see  such  little  beggars  ?  "  he  says,  tossing  his  head  up. 
"  They  wouldn't  take  such  fellows  into  our  line." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  tired,  thank  you,"  says  Charlotte.  "  I  am 
accustomed  to  carry  him."  I  forgot  to  say  that  the  young  lady 
had  one  of  the  children  asleep  on  her  shoulder ;  and  another 
was  toddling  at  her  side,  holding  by  his  sister's  dress,  and 
admiring  Mr.  Firmin's  whiskers,  that  flamed  and  curled  very 
luminously  and  gloriously,  like  to  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

"  1  am  very  glad  we  met,  sir,"  says  Philip,  in  the  most 
friendly  manner,  taking  leave  of  the  General  at  the  gate  of  his 
hotel.  "  I  hope  you  won't  go  away  to-morrow,  and  that  I  may 
come  and  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Baynes."  Again  he  salutes 
that  lady  with  a  coup  dc  chapeaii.  Again  he  bows  to  Miss 
Baynes.  "  She  makes  a  pretty  curtsey  enough,  considering  that 
she  has  a  baby  asleep  on  her  shoulder.  And  they  enter  the 
hotel,  the  excellent  Marie  marshalling  them  to  fitting  apart- 
ments, where  some  of  them,  I  have  no  doubt,  will  sleep  very 
soundly.  How  much  more  comfortably  might  poor  Baynes  and 
his  wife  have  slept  had  they  known  what  were  Philip's  feelings 
regarding  them  ! 

We  both  admired  Charlotte,  the  tall  girl  who  carried  her 
little  brother,  and  around  whom  the  others  clung.  And  we 
spoke  loudly  in  Miss  Charlotte's  praises  to  Mrs.  Pende^nnis, 
when  we  joined  that  lady  at  dinner.  l\\  the  praise  of  Mrs. 
Baynes  we  had  not  a  great  deal  to  say,  further  than  that  she 
seemed  to  take  command  of  the  whole  expedition,  including  the 
general  officer,  her  husband. 

Though  Marie's  beds  at  the  "  Hotel  des  Bains "  are  as 
comfortalDle  as  any  beds  in  Europe,  you  see  that  admirable 
chambermaid  cannot  lay  out  a  clean,  easy  conscience  upon  the 
clean,  fragrant  pillow-case;  and  General  and  Mrs.  Baynes 
owned,  in  after  days,  that  one  of  the  most  dreadful  nights  they 
ever  passed  was  that  of  their  first  landing  in  France.  What 
refugee  from  his  country  can  fly  from  himself  ?  Railways  were 
not  as  yet  in  that  part  of  France.  The  General  was  too  poor 
to  fly  with  a  couple  of  private  carriages,  which  he  must  have 
had  for  his  family  of  "noof,"  his  governess,  and  two  servants. 
Encumbered  with  such  a  train,  his  enemy  would  speedily  have 
pursued  and  overtaken  him.  It  is  a  fact  that  immediately  after 
landing  at  his  hotel,  he  and  his  commanding  oflicer  went  off  to 
see  when  they  could  get  jilaces  for — never  mind  the  name  of 
the  place  where  they  really  thought  of  taking  refuge.  They 
never  told,  but  Mrs.'Ceneral  Baynes  had  a  sister.  Mrs.  Major 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  2()\ 

MacWhirter  (married  to  MacW.  of  the  Bengal  Cavalry),  and 
the  sisters  loved  each  other  very  affectionately,  especially  by 
letter,  for  it  must  be  owned  that  they  quarrelled  frightfully  when 
together ;  and  Mrs.  MacWhirter  never  could  bear  that  her 
younger  sister  should  be  taken  out  to  dinner  before  her,  because 
she  was  married  to  a  superior  officer.  Well,  their  little  differ- 
ences were  forgotten  when  the  two  ladies  were  apart.  The 
sisters  wrote  to  each  other  prodigious  long  letters,  in  which 
household  affairs,  the  children's  puerile  diseases,  the  relative 
prices  of  veal,  eggs,  chickens,  the  rent  of  lodging  and  houses 
in  various  places,  were  fully  discussed.  And  as  Mrs.  Baynes 
showed  a  surprising  knowledge  of  Tours,  the  markets,  rents, 
clergymen,  society  there,  and  as  Major  and  Mrs.  Mac.  were 
staying  there,  I  have  little  doubt,  for  my  part,  from  this  and 
another  not  unimportant  circumstance,  that  it  was  to  that  fair 
city  our  fugitives  were  wending  their  way,  when  events  occurred 
which  must  now  be  narrated,  and  which  caused  General  Baynes 
at  the  head  of  his  domestic  regiment  to  do  what  the  King  of 
France  with  twenty  thousand  men  is  said  to  have  done  in  old 
times. 

Philip  was  greatly  interested  about  the  family.  The  truth 
is,  we  were  all  very  much  bored  at  Boulogne.  We  read  the 
feeblest  London  papers  at  the  reading-room  with  frantic  as- 
siduity. We  saw  all  the  boats  come  in  :  and  the  day  was  lost 
when  we  missed  the  Folkestone  boat  or  the  London  boat.  We 
consumed  much  time  and  absinthe  at  cafes ;  and  tramped 
leagues  upon  that  old  pier  every  day.  Well,  Philip  was  at  the 
"  Hotel  des  Bains  "  at  a  very  early  hour  next  morning,  and  there 
he  saw  the  General,  with  a  woe-worn  face,  leaning  on  his  stick, 
and  looking  at  his  luggage,  as  it  lay  piled  in  the  porte-cochere 
of  the  hotel.  There  they  lay,  thirty-seven  packages  in  all, 
including  washii->g-tubs,  and  a  child's  India  sleeping-cot ;  and 
all  these  packages  were  ticketed  M.  le  General  Baynes, 
Officier  Anglais,  Tours,  Touraine,  France.  I  say,  putting 
two  and  two  together ;  calling  to  mind  Mrs.  General's  singular 
knowledge  of  Tours  and  familiarity  with  the  place  and  its 
prices ;  remembering  that  her  sister  Emily — Mrs.  Major  Mac- 
\\'hirter,  in  fact — was  there  ;  and  seeing  thirty-seven  trunks, 
bags,  and  portmanteaus,  all  directed  "  M.  le  General  Baynes, 
Officier  Anglais,  Tours,  Touraine,"  am  I  wrong  in  supposing 
that  Tours  was  the  General's  destination  ?  On  the  other  hand, 
we  have  the  old  officer's  declaration  to  Philip  that  he  did  not 
know  where  he  was  going.  Oh,  you  sly  old  man !  Oh,  you 
gra\    old  fox,  beginning   to  double  and  to  turn  at  sixty-se\en 


292 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  THILIP 


years  of  age !  Well?  'Jiie  (leneral  was  in  retreat,  and  he  did 
not  wish  the  enemy  to  know  upon  what  lines  he  was  retreating. 
What  is  the  harm  of  that,  pray  ?  Besides,  he  was  under  the 
orders  of  his  commanding  officer,  and  when  Mrs.  General  gave 
her  orders,  I  should  have  liked  to  see  any  officer  of  hers 
disobey. 

"  What  a  pyramid  of  portmanteaus  !  You  are  not  thinking 
of  moving  to-day,  General  ?  "  says  Philip. 

•'  It  is  Sunday,  sir,"  says  the  General  ;  which  you  will  per- 
ceive was  not  answering  the  question  ;  but,  in  truth,  except  for 
a  \ery  great  emergency,  the  good  General  would  not  travel  on 
that  day. 

"  1  hope  the  ladies  slept  well  after  their  windy  \oyage." 

"  Thank  you.  My  wife  is  an  old  sailor,  and  has  made  two 
voyages  out  and  home  to  India."  Plere,  you  understand,  the 
old  man  is  again  eluding  his  interlocutor's  artless  queries. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  some  talk  with  you,  sir,  when  you 
are  free,"  continues  Philip,  not  having  leisure  as  yet  to  be 
surprised  at  the  other's  demeanor. 

"  There  are  other  days  beside  Sunday  for  talk  on  business," 
says  that  piteous  sly-boots  of  an  old  officer.  Ah,  conscience  ! 
conscience  !  Twenty-four  Sikhs,  sword  in  hand,  two  dozen 
Pindarries,  Mahrattas,  Ghoorkas,  what  you  please — that  old 
man  felt  that  he  would  rather  have  met  them  than  Philip's 
unsuspecting  blue  eyes.  These,  however,  now  lighted  up  with 
rather  an  angry,  "  ^Vell,  sir,  as  you  don't  talk  business  on  Sun- 
day, may  I  call  on  you  to-morrow  morning." 

'  And  what  advantage  had  the  poor  old  fellow  got  by  all  this 
doubling  and  hesitating  and  artfulness  ? — a  respite  until  to- 
morrow morning  !  Another  night  of  horrible  wakefulness  and 
hopeless  guilt,  and  Pliilip  waiting  ready  the  next  morning  with 
his  little  bill,  and,  "  Please  pay  me  the  thirty  .thousand  which 
my  father  spent  and  you  owe  me.  Please  turn  out  into  the 
streets  with  your  wife  and  family,  and  beg  and  starve.  Have 
the  goodness  to  hand  me  out  your  last  rupee.  Be  kind  enough 
to  sell  your  children's  clothes  and  your  wife's  jewels,  and  hand 
over  the  proceeds  to  me.     I'll  call  to-morrow.     Bye,  bye." 

Here  there  came  tripping  over  the  marble  pavement  of  the 
hall  of  the  hotel  a  tall  young  lady  in  a  brow^n  silk  dress  and 
ricii  curling  ringlets  falling  upon  her  fair  young  neck — beautiful 
brown  curling  ringlets,  vous  lomprenez,  not  wisps  of  moistened 
hair,  and  a  broad  clear  forehead,  and  two  honest  eyes  shining 
below  it,  and  cheeks  not  pale  as  they  were  yesterday;  and  lips 
redder  still ;  and  she  says,  "•  Papa,  papa,  won't  vou  come  to 


aV  HIS  VVA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


293 


breakfast  ?     The   tea  is "     What  the  precise  state  of  the 

tea  is  I  don't  know — none  of  us  ever  shall — for  here  she  says, 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Finnin  !  "  and  makes  a  curtsey. 

To  which  remark  Philip  replied,  "  Miss  Baynes,  I  hope  you 
are  very  well  this  morninc^  and  not  the  worse  for  yesterday's 
rough  weather. 

"  I  am  quite  well,  thank  you,'"  was  Miss  Baynes's  instant 
reply.  The  answer  was  not  witty  to  be  sure ;  but  I  don't  knou- 
that  under  the  circumstances  she  could  have  said  anything 
more  appropriate.  Indeed,  never  was  a  pleasanter  picture  of 
health  and  good-humor  than  the  young  lady  presented  ;  a 
difference  more  pleasant  to  note  than  Miss  Charlotte's  pale 
face  from  the  steamboat  on  Saturday,  and  shining,  rosy, 
happy,  and  innocent,  in  the  cloudless  Sabbath  morn. 


"  A  Madame, 
"  Madame  le  Major  MacWhirter, 

"  .\  Tours, 

"  Touraine, 
"  France. 

"  Tintelleries,  Boulogne  sur'Mer, 

"  Wednesday,  August  24,  18 — . 
"  Dearest  Emily, --After  suffering  tnore  dreadfully  in  the  t-.vo  hours'  passage  from 
Folkestone  to  this  place  than  I  have  in  four  passages  out  and  home  from  India,  except  in 
that  terrible  storm  off  the  Cape,  in  September,  1S24,  when  I  certainly  did  suffer  most 
cruelly  on  board  that  horrible  troopship,  we  reached  this  place  last  Saturday  evening,  hav- 
ing a  /idl  determination  to  proceed  immediately  on  our  route.  Now,  you  will  perceive 
that  our  minds  are  changed.  We  found  this  place  pleasant,  and  the  lodgings  besides  most 
neat,  comfortable,  and  well  found  in  everything,  more  reasonable  than  you  proposed  to  get 
for  us  at  Tours,  which  I  am  told  also  is  damp,  and  might  bring  on  the  general's  jungle 
fczier  again.  Owing  to  the  hooping-ccugh  having  just  been  in  the  house,  which,  praised 
be  mercy,  all  my  dear  ones  have  had  it,  including  dear  baby,  who  is  quite  well  through  it, 
and  recommended  sea  air,  we  got  this  house  more  reasonable  than  prices  you  mention  at 
Tours.  A  whole  house  :  little  room  for  two  boys  ;  nursery  ;  nice  little  room  for  Charlotte, 
and  a  de?i/br  the  General.  I  don't  know  how  ever  we  should  have  brought  our  party  safe 
all  the  way  to  Tours.  Thirty-seven  articles  of  luggage,  and  Miss  Flixby,  who  announced 
herself  as  perfect  French  governess,  acquired  at  Paris — perfect,  but  perfectly  useless.  She 
can't  understand  the  French  people  when  they  speak  to  her,  and  goes  about  the  house  in  a 
most  be7uildering  way.  I  am  the  interpreter  ;  poor  Charlotte  is  much  too  timid  to  speak 
when  I  am  by.  I  have  rubbed  \\\>  the  old  French  which  we  learned  at  Chiswick  at  Miss 
Pinkerton's  ;  and  I  find   my  Hindostanee  of  great  help :  which  I  use  it  when  we  are  at  a 

loss  for  a  word,  and  it  answers  extremely  well.    We  pay  for  lodgings,  the  whole  house 

francs  per  month.  Butchers'  meat  and  poultry  plentifid  but  dear.  A  grocer  in  the  Grande 
Rue  sells  excellent  wine  at  fifteenpence  per  bottle  ;  and  groceries  pretty  much  at  English 
prices.  Mr.  Blowman  at  the  English  chapel  of  the  Tintelleries  has  a  fine  voice,  and  ap- 
pears to  be  a  viost  excellent  clergyman.  I  have  heard  him  only  once,  however,  on  Sunday 
evening,  when  I  was  so  agitated  and  so  utiJiappy  in  mv  mind  that  I  own  I  took  little  note 
of  his  sermon. 

'•  The  cause  of  that  agitation  you  know,  having  imparted  it  to  you  in  my  letters  of  July, 
June,  and  24th  of  May,  uU.  My  poor  simple,  guileless  Baynes'.  was  trustee  to  Mrs.  Dr. 
Firmin,  before  she  married  that  most  unprincipled  man.  When  we  were  at  home  last,  and 
exchanged  to  the  120th  from  the  99th,  my  poor  husband  was  inveigled  by  the  horrid  man 
into  signing  a  paper  which  put  the  doctor  in  possession  of  all  his  wife'' s  property  ;  whereas 
Charles  thought  he  was  only  signing  a  power  of  attorney,  enabling  him  to  receive  his  son's 
dividends.  Dr.  F.,  after  the  most  atrocious  deceit,  forgery,  and  criminality  of  every 
kind,  fled  the  country  ;  and  Hunt  and  Pegler,  our  solicitors,  informed  us  that  the  General 
was  answerable  for  the  wickedness  of  this  tniscreant.  He  is  so  weak  that  he  has  been 
many  and  many  times  on  the  point  of  going  to  young  Mr.  F.  and  giving  up  everything. 


294  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  nil  UP 

It  was  only  by  my  prayurs,  by  my  commands,  tliat  1  have  been  enabled  to  keep  him  quiet ; 
and,  indeed,  Kmily,  the  effort  has  almost  kUled  him.  Brandy  repeatedly  1  was  obliged  to 
administer  on  the  dreadjiil  night  of  our  arrival  here. 

"  For  the  first  fcr  son  we  met  on  landing  was  Mr.  Philip  Kirmin,  with  a  pert  friend  oj 
his,  Mr.  Pendennis,  whom  I  don't  at  all  like,  though  his  wife  i.s  an  amiable  person  like 
r.inma  Fletcher  of  the  Horse  Artillery:  not  with  Emma's  style,  however,  but  still  amiable, 
and  disposed  to  be  most  civil.  Charlotte  has  taken  a 'great  fancy  to  her,  as  she  always  does 
ici  every  new  person.  Well,  fancy  our  state  on  landing,  when  a  young  gentleman  calls  out, 
'  How  do  you  do.  General?'  and  turns  out  to  be  Mr.  Firmin!  I  thought  I  should  have 
iost  Charle's  in  the  night.  I  have  seen  him  before  going  into  action  as  calm,  and  sleep  and 
smile  as  sweet,  as  any  hahe.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  up  his  courage  :  and,  but  for 
me,  but  for  my  prayers,  but  iEor  my  agonies,  I  think  he  would  have  jumped  out  of  bed,  and 
gone  to  Mr.  F.  that  night,  and  said,  'Take  everything  1  have.' 

"  The  young  man  I  own  has  behaved  in  the  most  honorable  way.  He  came  to  see  us 
before  breakfast  on  Sunday,  when  the  poor  General  was  so  ill  that  I  thought  he  would  have 
fainted  over  his  tea.  He  was  too  ill  to  go  to  church,  where  I  went  alone,  with  my  dear 
ones,  having,  as  I  own,  but  very  small  comfort  in  the  sermon:  but  oh,  Emily,  faiicy,  on 
our  return,  when  I  went  into  our  room,  I  found  my  General  on  his  knees  with  his  Church 
service  before  him,  crying,  crying  like  a  baby!  You  know  I  am  hasty  in  my  temper  some- 
times, and  his  is  indeed  an  angel's— ^ud  I  said  to  him,  '  Charles  Baynes,  be  a  man,  and 
don't  cry  like  a  child!  '  'Ah,'  says  lie,  '  Eliza,  do  yoii  kneel,  and  thank  God  too  ;'  on 
which  I  said  that  I  thought  I  did  not  require  instruction  in  my  religion  from  him  or  any 
man,  except  a  clergyman,  and  many  of  these  are  but  poor  instructors,  as  you  knoau. 

"  '  He  has  been  here,'  says  Charles  ;  when  I  said,  '  Who  lias  been  here  ? '  '  That  noble 
young  fellow,'  says  my  General  :  '  that  noble,  noble  Philip  Firmin.'  Which  iioble  his  con- 
duct I  own  it  has  been.  '  Whilst  you  were  at  church  he  came  again — here  into  this  very 
room,  where  I  was  sitting,  doubting  and  despairing,  with  the  Holy  Book  before  my  eyes, 
and  no  comfort  out  of  it.  And  he  said  to  me,  "  General,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  my 
grandfather's  will.  You  don't  suppose  that  because  my  father  has  deceived  you  and  ruined 
me,  I  will  carry  the  ruin  farther,  and  visit  his  wrong  upon  children  and  innocent  people  ? " 
Those  were  the  young  man's  words,'  my  General  said  ;  and,  'oh,  Eliza!  '  says  he,  'what 
pangs  of  remorse  I  felt  when  I  remembei-ed  we  had  used  hard  words  about  him,'  \v(]iich  I 
own  we  had,  for  his  manners  are  rough  and  haughty,  and  I  have  heard  things  of  him  which 
I  do  believe  now  can't  be  true. 

"  All  Monday  my  poor  man  was  obliged  to  keep  his  bed  with  a  smart  attack  of  his  fever. 
But  yesterday  he  was  quite  bright  and  well  again,  and  the  Pendennis  party  took  Charlotte 
for  a  drive,  and  showed  themselves  most  polite.  She  reminds  me  of  Mrs.  Tom  Fletcher  of 
the  Horse  Artillery,  but  that  I  think  I  liave  mentioned  before.  My  paper  is  full  ;  and 
with  our  best  to  MacWhirter  and  the  children,  I  am  always  mv  dearest  Emily's  affectionate 
sister,  "  Eliza  Bavnes." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BREVIS    ESSE     LABORO. 


Never,  General  Baynes  afterwards  declared,  did  fever  come 
and  go  so  pleasantly  as  that  attack  to  which  we  have  seen  the 
Mrs.  General  advert  in  her  letter  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Major 
MacWhirter.  The  cold  fit  was  merely  a  lively,  pleasant  chatter 
and  rattle  of  the  teeth  ;  the  hot  fit  an  agreeable  warmth  ;  and 
though  the  ensuing  sleep,  with  which  I  believe  such  aguish 
attacks  are  usually  concluded,  was  enlivened  by  several  dreams 
of  death,  demons,  and  torture,  how  felicitous  it  was  to  wake 
and  find  that  dreadful  thought  of  ruin  removed  which  had 
always,  for  the  last  few  months,  ever  since  Dr.  Firmin's  flight 


O.V  ins  \VA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  2^5 

and  the  knowledge  of  his  awn  imprudence,  pursued  the  good- 
natured  gentleman  !  What  !  this  boy  might  go  to  college,  and 
that  get  his  commission  ;  and  their  meals  need  be  embittered 
by  no  more  dreadful  thoughts  of  the  morrow,  and  their  walks 
no  longer  were  dogged  by  imaginary  bailiffs,  and  presented  a 
jail  in  the  vista !  It  was  too  much  bliss  ;  and  again  and  again 
the  old  soldier  said  his  thankful  prayers,  and  blessed  his  bene- 
factor. 

Philip  thought  no  more  of  his  act  of  kindness,  except  to  be 
very  grateful,  and  very  happy  that  he  had  rendered  other  peo- 
ple so.  He  could  no  more  have  taken  the  old  man's  all,  and 
plunged  that  innocent  family  into  poverty,  than  he  could  have 
stolen  the  forks  ofif  my  table.  But  other  folks  were  disposed  to 
rate  his  virtue  much  more  highly  ;  and  amongst  these  was  my 
wife,  who  chose  positively  to  worship  this  young  gentleman, 
and  I  believe  would  have  let  him  smoke  in  her  drawing-room 
if  he  had  been  so  minded,  and  though  her  genteelest  acquaint- 
ances were  in  the  room.  Goodness  knows  what  a  noise  and 
what  piteous  looks  are  produced  if  ever  the  master  of  the  house 
chooses  to  indulge  in  a  cigar  after  dinner  ;  but  then,  you  under- 
stand, /have  never  declined  to  claim  mine  and  my  children's 
right  because  an  old  gentleman  would  be  inconvenienced  : 
and  this  is  what  I  tell  Mrs.  Pen.  If  I  order  a  coat  from  my 
tailor,  must  I  refuse  to  pay  him  because  a  rogue  steals  it,  and 
ought  I  to  expect  to  be  let  off  ?  Women  won't  see  matters  of 
fact  in  a  matter-of-fact  point  of  view,  and  justice,  unless  it  is 
tinged  with  a  little  romance,  gets  no  respect  from  them. 

So,  forsooth,  because  Philip  has  performed  this  certainly 
most  generous,  most  dashing,  most  reckless  piece  of  extrava- 
gance, he  is  to  be  held  up  as  a  perfect /r^«:x:  chevalier.  The  most 
riotous  dinners  are  ordered  for  him.  We  are  to  wait  until  he 
comes  to  breakfast,  and  he  is  pretty  nearly  always  late.  The 
children  are  to  be  sent  round  to  kiss  Uncle  Philip,  as  he  is  now 
called.  The  children  ?  I  wonder  the  mother  did  not  jump  up 
and  kiss  him  too.  Elk  en  etait  capable.  As  for  the  osculations 
which  took  place  between  ]\Irs.  Pendennis  and  her  new-found 
young  friend,  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  they  were  perfectly  ridic- 
ulous ;  two  school  children  could  not  have  behaved  more  ab- 
surdly ;  and  I  don't  know  which  seemed  to  be  the  younger  of 
these  two.  There  were  colloquies,  assignations,  meetings  on 
the  ramparts,  on  the  pier,  where  know  I  ? — and  the  servants 
and  little  children  of  the  two  establishmenfs  were  perpetually 
trotting  to  and  fro  with  letters  from  dearest  Laura  to  dearest 
Charlotte,  and  dearest  Charlotte  to  her  dearest  Mrs.  Pendennis. 


296 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


Why,  my  wife  absolutely  went  the  length  of  saying  that  dearest 
C'harlotte's  mother,  Mrs.  Baynes,  was  a  worthy,  clever  woman, 
and  a  good  mother — a  woman  whose  tongue  never  ceased 
clacking  about  the  regiment,  and  all  the  officers,  and  all  the 
officers'  wives ;  of  whom,  by  the  way,  she  had  very  little  good 
to  tell. 

"  A  worthy  mother,  is  she,  my  dear  ?  "  I  say.  "  But,  oh, 
mercy  !  Mrs.  Baynes  would  be  an  awful  mother-in-law  !  " 

I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  having  such  a  commonplace, 
hard,  ill-bred  woman  in  a  state  of  quasi  authority  over  me. 

On  this  Mrs.  Laura  must  break  out  in  quite  a  petulant 
tone — "  Oh,  how  siak  this  kind  of  thing  is,  Arthur,  from  a  man 
qui  veut  passer  pour  mi  /lomnie  (r esprit  f  You  are  always  at- 
tacking mothers-in-law  !  " 

"Witness  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  my  love  —  Clive  Newcome's 
mother-in-law.  That's  a  nice  creature  ;  not  selfish,  not  wicked, 
not " 

"  Not  nonsense,  Arthur  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Baynes  knew  Mrs.  Mackenzie  in  the  West  Indies,  as 
she  knew  all  the  female  army.  vShe  considers  Mrs.  Mackenzie 
was  a  most  elegant,  handsome,  dashing  woman — only  a  little 
too  fond  of  the  admiration  of  our  sex.  There  was,  1  own,  a 
fascination  about  Captain  Goby.  Do  you  remember,  my  love, 
that  man  with  the  stays  and  dyed  hair,  who " 

"  Oh,  Arthur  !  When  our  girls  marry,  I  suppose  you  will 
teach  their  husbands  to  abuse,  and  scorn,  and  mistrust  t/wir 
mother-in-law.  Will  he,  my  darlings  ?  will  he,  my  blessings  .?  " 
(This  apart  to  the  children,  if  you  please.)  "  Go  !  I  have  no 
patience  with  such  talk  !  " 

"  Well,  my  love,  Mrs.  Baynes  is  a  most  agreeable  woman  ; 
and,  when  I  have  heard  that  story  about  the  Highlanders  at 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  a  few  times  more  "  (I  do  not  tell  it 
here,  for  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  present  history),  "  I  dare 
say  I  shall  begin  to  be  amused  by  it." 

"Ah  !  here  comes  Charlotte,  I'm  glad  to  say.  How  pretty 
she  is  !     What  a  color!     What  a  dear  creature  !  " 

To  all  which  of  course  I  could  not  say  a  contradictory  word, 
for  a  prettier,  fresher  lass  than  Miss  Baynes,  with  a  sweeter 
voice,  face,  laughter,  it  was  difficult  to  see. 

"  Why  does  manuna  like  Charlotte  better  than  she  likes  us  .'"' 
says  our  dear  and  justly  indignant  eldest  girl. 

"  I  could  not  love  her  better  if  I  were  her  niof/ier-in-Iaw,''^ 
says  Laura,  running  to  lier  young  friend,  casting  a  glance  at  me 
over  her  shoulder  ;  and  that  kissing  nonsense  begins  between 


ON  ins  WAY  riiRorcii  ii/i:  irou/.n. 


297 


the  two  ladies.  To  be  sure  tlie  L^irl  looks  imconunonly  bright 
and  pretty  with  her  pink  cheeks,  her  l)right  eyes,  lier  sUni  form, 
and  that  charming  white  India  shawl  which  her  father  brought 
home  for  her. 

To  this  osculatory  party  enters  presently  Mr.  Philip  Firmin, 
who  has  been  dawdling  about  the  ramparts  ever  since  break- 
fast. He  says  he  has  been  reading  law  there.  He  has  found 
a  jolly  quiet  place  to  read  law,  has  he  ?  And  much  good  may 
it  do  him  !  Why  has  he  not  gone  back  to  his  law  and  his 
reviewing  ? 

"  You  must — you  must  stay  on  a  little  longer.  You  have 
only  been  here  five  days.  Do,  Charlotte,  ask  Philip  to  stay  a 
little." 

All  the  children  sing  in  a  chorus,  "  Oh,  do,  Uncle  Philip, 
stay  a  little  longer  !  "  Miss  Baynes  says,  "  I  hope  you  will 
stay,  Mr.  Firmin,"  and  looks  at  him. 

"  Five  days  has  he  been  here  ?  Five  years.  Five  lives. 
Five  hundred  years.  What  do  you  mean  .?  In  that  little  time 
of — let  me  see,  a  hundred  and  twenty  hours,  and,  at  least,  a 
half  of  them  for  sleep  and  dinner  (for  Philip's  appetite  was  very 
fine) — do  you  mean  that  in  that  little  time,  his  heart,  cruelly 
stabbed  by  a  previous  monster  in  female  shape,  has  healed, 
got  quite  well,  and  actually  begun  to  be  wounded  again  .''  Have 
two  walks  on  the  pier,  as  many  visits  to  the  Tintelleries  (where 
he  hears  the  story  of  the  Highlanders  at  the  Cape  of  Good -Hope 
with  respectful  interest),  a  word  or  two  about  the  weather,  a 
look  or  two,  a  squeezekin,  perhaps,  of  a  little  handykin — I  say, 
do  you  mean  that  this  absurd  young  idiot,  and  that  little  round- 
faced  girl,  pretty,  certainly,  but  only  just  out  of  the  schoolroom 

— do  you  mean  to   sa}-  that  they  have Upon  my  word, 

Laura,  this  is  too  bad.  Why,  Philip  has  not  a  penny  piece  in 
the  world." 

"Yes,  he  has  a  hundred  pounds,  and  expects  to  sell  his 
mare  for  ninety  at  least.  He  has  excellent  talents.  He  can 
easily  write  three  articles  a  week  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazelle.  I 
am  sure  no  one  writes  so  well,  and  it  is  much  better  done  and 
more  amusing  than  it  used  to  be.  That  is  three  hundred  a 
year.  Lord  Ringwood  must  be  applied  to,  and  must  and  shall 
get  him  something.  Don't  you  know  that  Captain  Baynes 
stood  by  Colonel  Ringwood 's  side  at  Busaco,  and  that  they 
were  the  closest  friends  ?  And  pray  how  did  we  get  on,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?     How  did  w  get  on,  baby  ?  " 

"  How  did  we  det  on  ?  "  says  the  baby. 

"Oh,   woman!   woman!"   yells  the  father  of  the  family. 


298  THE  ADVEXTURES  OF  PHTLIP 

"  Why,  riiilip  Firmin  lias  all  the  habits  of  a  rich  man  with  the 
pay  of  a  mechanic.  Do  you  suppose  he  ever  sat  in  a  second- 
class  carriage  in  his  life,  or  denied  himself  any  pleasure  to 
which  he  had  a  mind  ?  He  gave  five  francs  to  a  beggar-girl 
yesterday." 

"  He  had  always  a  noble  heart,"  says  my  wife.  "  He  gave 
a  fortune  to  a  whole  family  a  week  ago  ;  and  "  (out  comes  the 
pocket-handkerchief — oh,  of  course,  the  pocket-handkerchief) — 
"  and — '  God  loves  a  cheerful  giver  ! '  " 

'■  He  is  careless  ;  he  is  extravagant ;  he  is  lazy  ; — I  don't 
know  that  he  is  remarkably  clever " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  he  is  your  friend,  of  course.  Now,  abuse  him — 
do,  Arthur  !  " 

"And,  pray,  when  did  you  become  acquainted  with  this 
astounding  piece  of  news  .''  "  I  inquire. 

"  When  ?  From  the  very  first  moment  when  I  saw  Char- 
lotte looking  at  him,  to  be  sure.  The  poor  child  said  to  me 
only  yesterday,  '  Oh^  Laura  !  he  is  our  preserver  ! '  And  their 
preserver  he  has  been,  under  Heaven." 

"  Yes.     But  he  has  not  got  a  five-pound  note  !  "  I  cry. 

"  Arthur,  I  am  surprised  at  you.  Oh,  men  are  awfully 
worldly  !  Do  you  suppose  Heaven  will  not  send  him  help  at 
its  good  time,  and  be  kind  to  him  who  has  rescued  so  many 
from  ruin  ?  Do  you  suppose  the  prayers,  the  blessings  of  that 
father,  of  those  little  ones,  of  that  dear  child  will  not  avail  him  ? 
Suppose  he  has  to  wait  a  year,  ten  years,  have  they  not  time, 
and  will  not  the  good  day  come  ? " 

Yes.  This  was  actually  the  talk  of  a  woman  of  good  sense 
and  discernment,  when  her  prejudices  and  romance  were  not  in 
the  way,  and  she  looked  forward  to  the  marriage  of  those  folks 
some  ten  years  hence,  as  confidently  as  if  they  were  both  rich, 
and  going  to  St.  George's  to-morrow. 

As  for  making  a  romantic  story  of  it,  or  spinning  out  love 
conversations  between  Jenny  and  Jessamy,  or  describing 
moonlight  raptures  and  passionate  outpourings  of  two  young 
hearts  and  so  forth — excuse  me,  s^il  voiis  plait.  I  am  a  man  of 
the  world,  and  of  a  certain  age.  Let  the  j'oung  people  fill  in 
this  outline,  and  color  it  as  they  please.  Let  the  old  folks  who 
read  lay  down  the  book  a  minute,  and  remember.  It  is  well 
remembered,  isn't  it,  that  time  ?  Yes,  good  John  Anderson, 
and  Mrs.  John.  Yes,  good  Darby  and  Joan.  The  lips  won't 
tell  now  what  they  did  once.  To-day  is  for  the  happy,  and 
to-morrow  for  the  young,  and  yesterday,  is  not  that  dear  and 
here  too? 


ON  ins  ]VA  V  TITROl'GIf  THE   WORLD.  2()<) 

I  was  in  the  company  of  an  elderly  gentleman,  not  very  long 
since,  who  was  perfectly  sober,  who  is  not  particularly  hand- 
some, or  healthy,  or.  wealthy,  or  witty  ;  and  who,  speaking  of  his 
past  life,  volunteered  to  declare  that  he  would  gladly  live  every 
minute  of  it  over  again.  Is  a  man  who  can  say  that  a  hardened 
sinner,  not  aware  how  miserable  he  ought  to  be  by  rights,  and 
therefore  really  in  a  most  desperate  and  deplorable  condition  ; 
or  is  \\Q  fortunatus  nmiium,  and  ought  his  statue  to  be  put  up 
in  the  most  splendid  and  crowded  thoroughfares  of  the  town  ? 
Would  you,  who  are  reading  this,  for  example,  like  to  \\\q  your 
life  over  again  ?  What  has  been  its  chief  joy  ?  What  are 
to-day's  pleasures  ?  Are  they  so  exquisite  that  you  would 
prolong  them  for  ever?  Would  you  like  to  have  the  roast  beef 
on  which  you  have  dined  brought  back  again  to  the  table,  and 
have  more  beef,  and  more,  and  more  ?  Would  you  like  to  hear 
yesterday's  sermon  over  and  over  again— eternally  voluble  ? 
Would  you  like  to  get  on  the  Edinburgh  mail,  and  travel 
outside  for  fifty  hours  as  you  did  in  your  youth  ?  You  might  as 
well  say  you  would  like  to  go  into  the  fiogging-room,  and  take 
a  turn  under  the  rods  :  you  would  like  to  be  thrashed  over 
again  by  your  bully  at  school :  you  would  like  to  go  to  the 
dentist's,  where  your  dear  parents  were  in  the  habit  of  taking 
you  :  you  would  like  to  be  taking  hot  Epsom  salts,  with  a  piece 
of  dry  bread  to  ta.:e  away  the  taste  :  you  would  like  to  be 
jilted  by  your  first  love  :  you  would  like  to  be  going  in  to  your 
father  to  tell  him  you  had  contracted  debts  to  the  amount  of 
x-\-  y  -\'  z,  whilst  you  were  at  the  university.  As  I  consider 
the  passionate  griefs  of  childhood,  the  weariness  and  sameness 
of  shaving,  the  agony  of  corns,  and  the  thousand  other  ills  to 
which  flesh  is  heir,  I  cheerfully  say  it  for  one,  I  am  not  anxious 
to  wear  it  for  ever.  No.  I  do  not  want  to  go  to  school  again. 
I  do  not  want  to  hear  Trotman's  sermon  over  again.  Take  me 
out  and  finish  me.  Give  me  the  cup  of  hemlock  at  once. 
Here's  a  health  to  you,  my  lads.  Don't  weep,  my  Simmias. 
Be  cheerful,  my  Phaedon.  Ha  !  I  feel  the  co-o-old  stealing, 
stealing  upwards.  Now  it  is  in  my  ankles — no  more  gout  in 
my  foot :  now  my  knees  are  numb.  What  is — is  that  poor 
executioner  crying  too  ?  Good-by.  Sacrifice  a  cock  to  tEscu 
— to  .^scula —  *  *  *  Have  you  ever  read  the  chapter  in 
"  Grote's  History  ? "  Ah  !  When  the  Sacred  Ship  returns 
from  Delos,  and  is  telegraphed  as  entering  into  port,  may  we 
be  at  peace  and  ready  ! 

What  is    this   funeral   chant,    when   the   pipes  should   be 
playing  gayly  as  Love,  and  Youth,   and   Spring,  and  Joy  are 


300  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHI  UP 

dancing  under  the  windows  ?  Look  you.  Men  not  so  wise  as 
Socrates  have  their  demons,  who  will  be  heard  to  whisper  in 
the  queerest  times  and  places.  Perhaps  I  shall  have  to  tell 
of  a  funeral  presently,  and  shall  be  outrageously  cheerful  ;  or 
of  an  execution,  and  shall  split  my  sides  with  laughing. 
Arrived  at  my  time  of  life,  when  I  see  a  penniless  young  friend 
falling  in  love  and  thinking  of  course  of  committing  matrimony, 
what  can  I  do  but  be  melancholy  ?  How  is  a  man  to  marry 
who  has  not  enough  to  keep  e\er  so  miniature  a  brougham — 
ever  so  small  a  house — not  enough  to  keep  himself,  let  alone  a 
wife  and  family }  Gracious  powers  !  is  it  not  blasphemy  to 
marry  without  fifteen  hundred  a  year  ?  Poverty,  debt,  pro- 
tested bills,  duns,  crime,  fall  assuredly  on  the  wretch  who  has 
not  fifteen — say  at  once  two  thousand  a  year  ;  for* you  can't 
live  decently  in  London  for  less.  And  a  wife  whom  you  have 
met  a  score  of  times  at  balls  or  breakfasts,  and  with  her  best 
dresses  and  behavior  at  a  country  house  ; — how  do  you  know 
how  she  will  turn  out ;  what  her  temper  is  ;  what  her  relations 
are  likely  to  be  ?  Suppose  she  has  poor  relations,  or  loud 
coarse  brothers  who  are  always  dropping  in  to  dinner  ?  What 
is  her  mother  like?  and  can  you  bear  to  have  that  woman 
meddling  and  domineering  over  your  establishment?  Old 
General  Baynes  was  very  well  ;  a  weak,  quiet  and  presentable 
old  man  :  but  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  and  that  awful  Mrs.  Major 
MacWhirter, — and  those  hobbledehoys  of  boys  in  creaking 
shoes,  hectoring  about  the  premises  ?  As  a  man  of  the  world  I 
saw  all  these  dreadful  liabilities  impending  over  the  husband 
of  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  and  could  not  view  them  without 
horror.  Gracefully  and  slightly,  but  wittily  and  in  my  sarcastic 
way,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  show  up  the  oddities  of  the 
Baynes  family  to  Philip.  I  mimicked  the  boys,  and  their 
clumping  blucher-boots.  I  touched  off  the  dreadful  military 
ladies,  very  smartly  and  cleverly  as  I  thought,  and  as  if  I  never 
supposed  that  Philip  had  any  idea  of  Miss  Baynes.  To  do 
him  justice,  he  laughed  once  or  twice  ;  then  he  grew  very  red. 
His  sense  of  humor  is  very  limited  ;  that  even  Laura  allows. 
Then  he  came  out  with  a  strong  expression,  and  said  it  was  a 
confounded  shame,  and  strode  off  with  his  cigar.  And  when  I 
remarked  to  my  wife  how  susceptible  he  was  in  some  things, 
and  how  little  in  the  matter  of  joking,  she  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders and  said,  "  Philip  not  only  understood  perfectly  well  what 
I  said,  but  would  tell  it  all  to  Mrs.  General  and  Mrs.  Major  on  the 
first  opportunity."  And  this  was  the  fact,  as  Mrs.  Baynes  took 
care  to  tell  me  afterivards.     She  was  aware  who  was  her  enemy. 


ON"  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  301 

She  was  aware  who  spoke  ill  of  her,  and  her  blessed  darling  be- 
hind our  backs.  And  "  do  you  think  it  was  to  seej'^«  or  any  one 
belonging  to  your  stuck-up  house,  sir,  that  we  came  to  you  so 
often,  which  we  certainly  did,  day  and  night,  breakfast  and 
supper,  and  no  thanks  to  you  ?  No,  sir  !  ha,  ha  ! "  I  can  see  her 
flaunting  out  of  my  sitting-room  as  she  speaks,  with  a  strident 
laugh,  and  snapping  her  dingily  gloved  fingers  at  the  door. 
Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  To  think  that  you  were  such  a  coward  as 
to  go  and  tell  her  !  But  I  pardon  him.  From  my  heart  I  pity 
and  pardon  him. 

For  the  step  which  he  is  meditating  you  may  be  sure  that 
tlie  young  man  himself  does  not  feel  the  smallest  need  of  par- 
don or  pity.  He  is  in  a  state  of  happiness  so  crazy  that  it  is 
useless  to  reason  with  him.  Not  being  at  all  of  a  poetical  turn 
originally,  the  wretch  is  actually  perpetrating  verse  in  secret, 
and  my  "servants  found  fragments  of  his  manuscript  on  the 
dressing-table  in  his  bedroom.  Heart  and  art,  sever  and  for 
ever,  and  so  on  ;  what  stale  rhymes  are  these  1  I  do  not  feel 
at  liberty  to  give  in  entire  the  poem  which  our  maid  found  in 
Mr.  Philip's  room,  and  brought  sniggering  to  my  wife,  who  only 
said,  "  Poor  thing  ! "  The  fact  is,  it  was  too  pitiable.  Such 
maundering  rubbish  !  such  stale  rhymes,  and  such  old  thoughts  ! 
But  then,  says  Laura,  "  I  dare  say  all  people's  love-making  is 
not  amusing  to  their  neighbors  ;  and  I  know  who  wrote  not 
very  wise  love-verses  when  he  was  young."  No,  I  won't  pub- 
lish Philip's  verses,  until  some  day  he  shall  mortally  offend 
me.  I  can  recall  some  of  my  own  written  imder  similar  circum- 
stances with  twinges  of  shame  ;  and  shall  drop  a  veil  of  decent 
friendship  over  my  friend's  folly. 

Under  that  veil,  meanwhile,  the  young  man  is  perfectly 
contented,  nay,  uproariously  happy.  All  earth  and  nature 
smiles  round  about  him.  "When  Jove  meets  his  Juno,,  in 
Homer,  sir,"  says  Philip,  in  his  hectoring  way,  "  don't  immortal 
flowers  of  beauty  spring  up  around  them,  and  rainbows  of 
celestial  hues  bend  over  their  heads  ?  Love,  sir,  flings  a  halo 
round  the  loved  one.  Where  she  moves  rise  roses,  hyacinths, 
and  ambrosial  odors.  Don't  talk  to  me  about  poverty,  sir  ! 
He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much  or  his  desert  is  small,  who 
dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch  and  win  or  lose  it  all  !  Haven't  1 
endured  poverty  ?  Am  I  not  as  poor  now  as  a  man  can  be — 
and  what  is  there  in  it  ?  Do  I  want  for  anything  ?  Haven't  I 
got.  a  guinea  in  my  pocket  ?  Do  I  owe  any  nian  anything  ? 
Isn't  there  manna  in  the  wilderness  for  those  who  have  faith 
to  walk  in  it?     That's  where  you  fail,  Pen.      By  all  that  is 


302 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PJIIUP 


sacred,  you  have  no  faith;  your  heart  is  cowardly,  sir  ;  and  if 
you  are  to  escape,  as  perhaps  you  may,  I  suspect  it  is  by  your 
wife  that  you  will  be  saved.  Laura  has  a  trust  in  heaven,  but 
Arthur's  morals  are  a  genteel  atheism.  Just  reach  me  that 
claret —  the  wine's  not  bad.  I  say  your  morals  are  a  genteel 
atheism,  and  1  shudder  when  I  think  of  your  condition.  Talk 
to  me  about  a  brougham  being  necessary  for  the  comfort  of  a 
woman  !  A  broomstick  to  ride  to  the  moon  !  And  I  don't  say 
that  a  brougham  is  not  a  comfort,  mind  you  ;  but  that,  when 
it  is  a  necessity,  mark  you,  heaven  will  provide  it !  Why,  sir, 
hang  it,  look  at  me  !  Ain't  I  suffering  in  the  most  abject  pov- 
erty ?  I  ask  you  is  there  a  man  in  London  so  poor  as  I  am } 
And  since  my  father's  ruin  do  I  want  for  anything  1  I  want 
for  shelter  for  a  day  or  two.  Good.  There's  my  dear  Little 
Sister  ready  to  give  it  me.  I  want  for  money.  Does  not 
that  sainted  widow's  cruse  pour  its  oil  out  for  me  .■'  Heaven 
bless  and  reward  her.  Boo  !  "  (Here,  for  reasons  which  need 
not  be  named,  the  orator  squeezes  his  fists  into  his  eyes.)  "  I 
want  shelter;  ain't  I  in  good  quarters  ?  1  want  work  ;  haven't 
I  got  work,  and  did  you  not  get  it  for  me  ?  You  should  just 
see,  sir,  how  I  polished  off  that  book  of  travels  this  morning. 

I  read  some  of  the  article  to  Char ,  to  Miss ,  to  some 

friends,  in  fact.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  they  are  very  intel- 
lectual people,  but  your  common  humdrum  average  audience  is 
the  public  to  try.  Recollect  Moliere  and  his  housekeeper,  you 
know." 

"  By  the  housekeeper,  do  you  mean  Mrs.  Baynes  .-'  "  I  ask, 
in  my  amontillado  manner.  (By  the  way,  who  ever  heard  of 
amontillado  in  the  early  days  of  which  I  write  ?)  "  In  manner 
she  would  do,  and  1  dare  say  in  accomplishments  ;  but  I  doubt 
about  her  temper." 

''  You're  almost  as  worldly  as  the  Twysdens,  by  George,  you 
are  !  Unless  persons  are  of  a  certain  nionde,  you  don't  value 
them.  A  little  adversity  would  do  you  good.  Pen  ;  and  1 
heartily  wish  you  might  get  it,  except  for  the  dear  wife  and 
children.  You  measure  your  morality  by  May  Fair  standards ; 
antl  if  an  angel  unawares  came  to  you  in  pattens  and  a  cotton 
umbrella,  you  would  turn  away  from  her.  You  would  never 
have  found  out  the  Little  Sister.  A  duchess — God  bless  her  ! 
A  creature  of  an  imperial  generosity,  and  delicacy,  and  intre- 
pidity, and  the  finest  sense  of  humor ;  but  she  drops  her  //'s 
often,  and  how  could  you  pardon  such  a  crime  .-'  Sir,  you  are 
my  better  in  wit  and  a  dexterous  application  of  your  powers ; 
but  1    think,  sir,"  says  Piiil,  curling  the  flaming  mustache,  "  I 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  'IHE   WORLD, 


Z'^Z 


am  your  superior  in  a  certain  magnanimity;  though,  by  Jove, 
old  fellow,  man  and  boy,  you  have  always  been  one  of  the  best 
fellows  in  the  world  to  P.  Y. ;  one  of  the  best  fellows,  and  the 
most  generous,  and  the  most  cordial, — that  you  have  :  only  you 
do  rile  me  when  you  sing  in  that  confounded  May  Fair  twang." 

Here  one  of  the  children  summoned  us  to  tea — and  "  Papa 
was  laughing,  and  uncle  Philip  was  flinging  his  hands  about  and 
pulling  his  beard  off,"  said  the  little  messenger. 

"  I  shall  keep  a  fine  lock  of  it  for  you,  Nelly,  my  dear,"  says 
uncle  Philip.  On  which  the  child  said,  ''  Oh,  no  !  I  know  whom 
you'll  give  it  to,  don't  I,  mamma  ?  "  and  she  goes  up  to  her 
mamma,  and  whispers. 

Miss  Nelly  knows?  At  what  age  do  those  little  match- 
makers begin  to  know,  and  how  soon  do  they  practise  the  use 
of  their  young  eyes,  their  little  smiles,  wiles,  and  ogles  .?  This 
young  woman,  I  believe,  coquetted  while  she  was  yet  a  baby  in 
arms,  over  her  nurse's  shoulder.  Before  she  could  speak,  she 
could  be  proud  of  her  new  vermilion  shoes,  and  would  point 
out  the  charms  of  her  blue  sash.  She  was  jealous  in  the  nursery, 
and  her  little  heart  had  beat  for  years  and  years  before  she  left 
off  pinafores. 

For  whom  will  Philip  keep  a  lock  of  that  red,  red  gold  whicii 
curls  round  his  face  ?  Can  you  guess  ?  Of  what  color  is  the 
hair  in  that  little  locket  which  the  gentleman  himself  occultly 
wears  ?  A  few  months  ago,  I  believe,  a  pale  straw-colored  wisp 
of  hair  occupied  that  place  of  honor  ;  now  it  is  a  chestnut-brown, 
as  far  as  I  can  see,  of  precisely  the  same  color  as  that  which 
waves  round  Charlotte  Baynes'  pretty  face,  and  tumbles  in 
clusters  on  her  neck,  very  nearly  the  color  of  Mrs.  Paynter's 
this  last  season.  So,  you  see,  we  chop  and  we  change  :  straw 
gives  place  to  chestnut,  and  chestnut  is  succeeded  by  ebony  ; 
and,  for  our  own  parts,  we  defy  time  ;  and  if  you  want  a  lock  of 
my  hair,  Belinda,  take  this  pair  of  scissors,  and  look  in  that 
cupboard,  in  the  bandbox  marked  No.  3,  and  cut  off  a  thick 
glossy  piece,  darling,  and  wear  it,  dear,  and  my  blessings  go 
with  thee  !  What  is  this  ?  Am  1  sneering  because  Corydon 
and  Phyllis  are  wooing  and  happy  ?  You  see  I  pledged  myself 
not  to  have  any  sentimental  nonsense.  To  describe  love-mak- 
ing is  immoral  and  immodest ;  you  know  it  is.  To  describe  it 
as  it  really  is,  or  would  appear  to  you  and  me  as  lookers-on, 
would  be  to  describe  the  most  dreary  farce,  to  chronicle  the 
most  tautological  twaddle.  To  take  a  note  of  sighs,  hand- 
squeezes,  looks  at  the  moon,  and  so  forth — does  this  business 
become  our  dignity  as  historian^  ?     Come  away  from   those 


304  THE  AD\-ENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

foolish  young  people — they  don't  want  us ;  and  dreary  as  their 
farce  is,  and  tautological  as  their  twaddle,  you  may  be  sure  that 
it  amuses  them,  and  that  they  are  happy  enough  without  us. 
Happy?  Is  there  any  happiness  like  it,  pray?  Was  it  not 
rapture  to  watch  the  messenger,  to  seize  the  note,  and  fee  the 
bearer  ? — to  retire  out  of  sight  of  all  prying  eyes,  and  read  : — 
"  Dearest !  Mamma's  cold  is  better  this  morning.  The  Joneses 
came  to  tea,  and  Julia  sang.  1  did  not  enjoy  it,  as  my  dear 
was  at  his  horrid  dmner,  where  1  hope  he  amused  himself. 
Send  me  a  word  by  Buttles,  who  brings  this,  if  only  to  say  you 
are  your  Louisa's  own,  own,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  That  used  to  be 
the  kind  of  thing.  In  such  coy  lines  artless  Innocence  used  to 
whisper  its  little  vows.  So  she  used  to  smile  ;  so  she  used  to 
warble  ;  so  she  used  to  prattle.  Young  people,  at  present 
engaged  in  the  pretty  sport,  be  assured  your  middle-aged 
parents  have  played  the  game,  and  remember  the  rules  of  it. 
Ves,  under  papa's  bow-window  of  a  waiscoat  is  a  heart  which 
took  very  violent  exercise  when  that  w-aist  was  slim.  Now  he 
sits  tranquilly  in  his  tent,  and  watches  the  lads  going  in  for 
their  innings.  \\  hy,  look  at  grandmamma  in  her  spectacles 
reading  that  sermon.  In  her  old  heart  there  is  a  corner  as 
romantic  still  as  when  she  used  to  read  the  "  Wild  Irish  Girl  " 
or  the  "  Scottish  Chiefs "'  in  the  days  of  her  misshood.  And  as 
for  your  grandfather,  my  dears,  to  see  him  now  you  would  little 
suppose  that  that  calm,  polished,  dear  old  gentleman  was  once 
as  wild — as  wild  as  Orson.  *  *  *  *  Under  my  windows,  as  / 
write,  there  passes  an  itinerant  flower  merchant.  He  has  his 
roses  and  geraniums  on  a  cart,  drawn  by  a  quadruped — a  little 
long-eared  quadruped,  which  lifts  up  its  voice,  and  sings  after 
its  manner.  When  1  was  young,  donkeys  used  to  bray  precisely 
the  same  way  ;  and  others  will  heehaw  so,  when  we  are  silent 
and  our  ears  hear  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

DRUM     IST's    so    WOML    MIR    IN    DER    WELT. 

Our  new  friends  lived  for  a  while  contentedly  enough  at 
Boulogne,  where  they  found  comrades  and  acquaintances  gath- 
ered together  from  those  many  regions  which  they  had  visited 
in  the  course  of  their  military  career.     Mrs.  Baynes,  out  of  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


305 


field,  was  the  commanding  officer  over  the  General.  She  ordered 
his  clothes  for  him,  tied  liis  neckcloth  into  a  neat  bow,  and,  on 
tea-party  nights,  pinned  his  brooch  into  his  shirt-frill.  She  gave 
him  to  understand  when  he  had  had  enough  to  cat  or  drink  at 
dinner,  and  explained,  with  great  frankness,  how  this  or  that  dish 
did  not  agree  with  him.  If  he  was  disposed  to  exceed,  she  would 
call  out,  in  a  loud  voice  ;  "  Remember,  General,  what  you  took 
this  morning !  "  Knowing  his  constitution,  as  she  said,  she 
knew  the  remedies  which  were  necessar)'  for  her  husband,  and 
administered  them  to  him  with  great  liberality.  Resistance  was 
impossible,  as  the  veteran  officer  acknowledged.  "  The  boys 
have  fought  about  the  medicine  "since  we  came  home,"  he  con- 
fessed, "  but  she  has  me  under  her  thumb,  by  George.  She 
really  is  a  magnificent  physician,  now.  She  has  got  some 
invaluable  prescriptions,  and  in  India  she  used  to  doctor  the 
whole  station."  She  would  have  taken  the  present  writer's 
little  household  under  her  care,  and  proposed  several  remedies 
for  my  children,  until  their  alarmed  mother  was  obliged  to  keep 
them  out  of  her  sight.  I  am  not  saying  this  was  an  agreeable 
woman.  Her  v^oice  was  loud  and  harsh.  The  anecdotes  which 
she  was  for  ever  narrating  related  to  military  personages  in 
foreign  countries,  with  whom  I  was  unacquainted,  and  whose 
history  failed  to  interest  me.  She  took  her  wine  with  much 
spirit,  whilst  engaged  in  this  prattle.  I  have  heard  talk  not  less 
foolish  in  much  finer  company,  and  known  people  delighted  to 
listen  to  anecdotes  of  the  duchess  and  the  marchioness  who 
would  yawn  over  the  history  of  Captain  Jones's  quarrels  with 
his  lady,  or  Mrs.  Major  Wolfe's  monstrous  flirtations  with 
young  Ensign  Kyd.  My  wife,  with  the  mischievousness  of  her 
sex,  would  mimic  the  Baynes'  conversation  very  drolly,  but 
always  insisted  that  she  was  not  more  really  vulgar  than  many 
much  greater  persons. 

For  all  this,  Mrs.  General  Baynes  did  not  hesitate  to  declare 
that  we  were  "  stuck  up  "  people  ;  and  from  the  very  first  setting 
eyes  on  us  she  declared  that  she  viewed  us  with  a  constant 
darkling  suspicion.  Mrs.  P.  was  a  harmless,  washed-out  crea- 
ture, with  nothing  in  her.  As  for  that  high  and  mighty  Mr.  P. 
and  his  airs,  she  would  be  glad  to  know  if  the  wife  of  a  British 
general  officer  who  had  seen  service  in  every  part  of  the  globe, 
and  met  the  ifiost  liistinguished  governors,  generals,  and  their 
ladies,  several  of  whom  were  jwblemen — she  would  be  glad  to 
know  whether  such  people  were  not  good  enough  for,  &c.,  <!i:c. 
Who  has  not  met  with  these  difficulties  in  life,  and  who  can 
escape  them  .?     "  Hang  it,  sir,"  Phil  would  say,  twirling  the  red 

2 


3o6 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  J' HI  LIP 


mustache,  "  I  like  to  be  hated  by  some  fellows ; "  and  it  must 
be  owned  that  Mr.  Philip  got  what  he  liked.  I  suppose  Mr. 
Philip's  friend  and  biographer  had  something  of  the  same  feel- 
ing. At  any  rate,  in  regard  of  this  lady  the  hypocrisy  of 
politeness  was  very  hard  to  keep  up ;  wanting  us  for  reasons  of 
her  own,  she  covered  the  dagger  with  which  she  would  have 
stabbed  us  :  but  we  knew  it  was  there  clenched  in  her  skinny 
hand  in  her  meagre  pocket.  She  would  joay  us  the  most  ful- 
some compliments  with  anger  raging  out  of  her  eyes — a  little 
hate-bearing  woman,  envious,  malicious,  but  lo\'ing  her  cubs, 
and  nursing  them,  and  clutching  them  in  her  lean  arms  with  a 
jealous  strain.  It  was  "  Good-by,  darling  !  1  shall  leave  you 
here  with  your  friends.  Oh,  how  kind  you  are  to  her,  Mrs.  I'en- 
dennis  !  How  can  I  ever  thank  you,  and  Mr.  P.,  I  am  sure ;" 
and  she  looked  as  if  she  could  poison  both  of  us,  as  she  went 
away,  curtseying  and  darting  dreary  parting  smiles. 

This  lady  had  an  intimate  friend  and  companion  in  arms, 
Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  in  fact,  of  the  — th  Bengal  Cavalry,  who 
was  now  in  Europe  with  f>unch  and  their  children,  who  were 
residing  at  Paris  for  the  young  folks'  education.  At  first,  as  we 
have  heard,  Mrs.  Baynes'  preditections  had  been  all  for  Tours, 
where  her  sister  was  living,  and  lodgings  were  cheap  and  food 
reasonable  in  proportion.  But  Bunch  happening  to  pass 
through  Bolougne  on  his  way  to  his  wife  at  Paris,  and  meeting 
his  old  comrade,  gave  General  Baynes  such  an  account  of  the 
cheapness  and  the  pleasures  of  the  French  capital  as  to  induce 
the  General  to  think  of  bending  his  steps  thither.  Mrs.  Baynes 
would  not  hear  of  such  a  plan.  She  was  all  for  her  dear  sister 
and  Tours ;  but  when,  in  the  course  of  conversation.  Colonel 
Bunch  described  a  ball  at  the  Tuileries,  where  he  and  Mrs.  B. 
had  been  received  with  the  most  flattering  politeness,  by  the 
royal  family,  it  was  remarked  that  Mrs.  Baynes"  mind  under- 
went a  change.  When  Bunch  went  on  to  aver  that  the  balls  at 
Government  House  at  Calcutta  were  nothing  compared  to  those 
at  the  Tuileries  or  the  Prefecture  of  the  Seine ;  that  the 
English  were  invited  and  respected  everywhere  ;  that  the  am- 
bassador was  most  hospitable  ;  that  the  clergymen  were  admir- 
able ;  and  that  at  their  boarding-house,  kept  by  Madame  le 
Generale  Baronne  de  Smolensk,  at  the  ''  Petit  Chateau  d'P^s- 
pange,"  Avenue  de  ^'almy,  Champs  Elysees,  they  had  balls  twice 
a  month,  the  most  comfortable  apartments,  the  most  choice 
society,  and  every  comfort  and  luxury  at  so  many  francs  per 
month,  with  an  allowance  for  children — I  say  Mrs.  Baynes  was 
very  greatly  moved.      ''  It  is  not,"  she  said,   "in  consequence 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  307 

of  the  balls  at  the  Ambassador's  or  the  Tuileries,  for  1  am 
an  old  woman  ;  and  in  spite  of  what  you  say,  Colonel,  1  can't 
fancy,  after  Government  House,  anything  more  magnificent  in 
any  French  palace.  It  is  not  for  w^-,  goodness  knows,  I  speak  : 
but  the  children  should  have  education,  and  my  Charlotte  an 
entre'e  into  the  world ;  and  what  you  say  of  the   invaluable 

clergyman,  Mr.  X ,  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  all  night ;  but 

above  all,  above  all,  of  the  chances  of  education  for  my  dar- 
lings. Nothing  should  give  way  to  that — nothing  !  "  On  this 
a  long  and  delightful  conversation  and  calculation  took  place. 
Bunch  produced  his  bills  at  the  Baroness  de  Smolensk's.  The 
two  gentlemen  jotted  up  accounts,  and  made  calculations  all 
through  the  evening.  It  was  hard  even  for  Mrs.  Baynes  to 
force  the  figures  into  such  a  shape  as  to  make  them  accord 
with  the  General's  income  ;  but,  driven  away  by  one  calculation 
after  another,  she  returned  again  and  again  to  the  charge,  until 
she  overcame  the  stubborn  arithmetical  difficulties,  and  the 
pounds,  shillings,  and  pence  lay  prostrate  before  her.  They 
could  save  upon  this  point ;  they  could  screw  upon  that ;  they 
must  must  make  a  sacrifice  to  educate  the  children.  "  Sarah 
Bunch  and  her  girls  go  to  Court,  indeed  !  Why  shouldn't  mine 
go  ? "  she  asked.  On  which  her  General  said,  "  By  George, 
Eliza,  that's  the  point  you  are  thinking  of."  On  which  Eliza 
said  "  No,"  and  repeated  "  No  "  a  score  of  times,  growing 
more  angry  as  she  uttered  each  denial.  And  she  declared 
before  heaven  she  did  not  want  to  go  to  any  Court.  Had  she 
not  refused  to  be  presented  at  home,  though  Mrs.  Colonel 
Flack  w-ent,  because  she  did  not  choose  to  go  to  the  wicked 
expense  of  a  train  ?  And  it  was  base  of  the  General,  base  and 
mean  of  him  to  say  so.  And  there  was  a  fine  scene,  as  I  am 
given  to  understand  ;  not  that  I  was  present  at  this  family 
fighc  :  butJiiy  informant  was  Mr.  Firmin ;  and  Mr.  Firmin  had 
his  information  from  a  little  person  who,  about  this  time,  had 
got  to  prattle  out  all  the  secrets  of  her  young  heart  to  him  ;  who 
would  have  jumped  olif  the  pier-head  with  her  hand  in  his  if  he 
had  said  "  Come,"  without  his  hand  if  he  had  said  "  Go :  "  a 
little  person  whose  whole  life  had  been  changed — changed  for 
a  month  past — changed  in  one  minute,  that  minute  when  she 
saw  Philip's  fiery  whiskers  and  heard  his  great  big  voice  saluting 
her  father  amongst  the  commissioners  on  the  quai  before  the 
custom-house. 

Tours  was,  at  any  rate,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  farther  off 
than  Paris  from — from  a  city  where  a  young  gentleman  lived  in 
whom  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes  felt  an  interest  \  hence,  I  suppose, 


3o8 


TTfE  ADVENTURES  OE  rifJUP 


arose  her  delight  that  her  parents  luid  determined  upon  taking 
up  their  residence  in  the  larger  and  nearer  city.  Besides,  she 
owned,  in  the  course  of  her  artless  confidences  to  my  wife,  that, 
when  together,  mamma  and  aunt  MacWhirter  quarrelled  un- 
ceasingly ;  and  had  once  caused  the  old  boys,  the  Major  and 
the  General,  to  call  each  other  out.  She  preferred,  then,  to  live 
away  from  aunt  Mac.  She  had  ne\-er  had  such  a  friend  as 
Laura,  never.  She  had  never  been  so  happy  as  at  Boulogne, 
never.  She  should  always  love  everybody  in  our  house,  that 
she  should,  for  ever  and  ever — and  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  The 
ladies  meet ;  cling  together ;  osculations  are  carried  round  the 
whole  family  circle,  from  our  wandering  eldest  boy,  who  cries, 
"  I  say,  hullo  !  what  are  you  kissing  me  so  about.'"'  to  darling 
baby,  crowing  and  sputtering  unconscious  in  the  rapturous 
young  girl's  embraces.  I  tell  you,  these  two  women  were 
making  fools  of  themselves,  and  they  were  burning  with  enthu- 
siasm for  the  "preserver"  of  the  Baynes  family,  as  they  called 
that  big  fellow  yonder,  whose  biographer  I  have  aspired  to  be. 
The  lazy  rogue  lay  basking  in  the  glorious  warmth  and  sunshine 
of  early  love.  He  would  stretch  his  big  limbs  out  in  our  gar- 
den ;  pour  out  his  feelings  with  endless  volubility ;  call  upon 
/io?ninum  dhnimqiic  voluptas,  alma  Venus  ;  vow  that  he  had  never 
lived  or  been  happy  until  now ;  declared  that  he  laughed  pov- 
erty to  scorn  and  all  her  ills  ;  and  fume  against  his  masters  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  because  they  declined  to  insert  certain 
love  verses  which  Mr.  Philip  now  composed  almost  every  day. 
Poor  little  Charlotte  !  And  didst  thou  receive  those  treasures 
of  song ;  and  wonder  over  them,  not  perhaps  comprehending 
them  altogether  ;  and  lock  them  up  in  thy  heart's  inmost  cas- 
ket as  well  as  in  thy  little  desk;  and  take  them  out  in  quiet 
hours,  and  kiss  them,  and  bless  heaven  for  giving  thee  such 
jewels  .''  I  dare  say.  I  can  fancy  all  this,  without  seeing  it.  I 
can  read  the  little  letters  in  the  little  desk,  without  picking  lock 
or  breaking  seal.  Poor  little  letters  !  Sometimes  they  are  not 
spelt  right,  quite  ;  but  I  don't  know  that  the  style  is  worse  for 
that.  Poor  little  letters !  You  are  fiung  to  the  winds  some- 
times and  forgotten  with  all  your  sweet  secrets  and  loving  art- 
less confessions  ;  but  not  always — no,  not  always.  As  for 
Philip,  who  was  the  most  careless  creature  alive,  and  left  all  his 
clothes  and  haberdashery  sprawling  on  his  bedroom  floor,  he 
had  at  this  time  a  breast-pocket  stuffed  out  with  papers  which 
crackled  in  the  most  ridiculous  wa)'.  He  was  always  looking 
down  at  this  precious  ])()cket,  and  putting  one  of  his  great 
hands  over  it  as  though  he  would  guard  it.     The  pocket  did 


ON  HIS  WA  V  THROUGH  THl:    WORLD. 


309 


not  contain  bank-notes,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  It  contained 
documents  stating  tiiat  mamma's  cold  is  better;  the  Joneses 
came  to  tea,  and  Julia  sang,  &c.  Ah,  friend,  however  old  you 
are  now,  however  cold  you  are  now,  however  tough,  I  hoj^e 
you,  too,  remember  how  Julia  sang,  and  the  Joneses  came  to 
tea. 

Mr.  PhiliiD  stayed  on  week  after  week,  declaring  to  my  wife 
that  she  was  a  perfect  angel  for  keeping  him  so  long.  Bunch 
wrote  from  his  boarding-house  more  and  more  enthusiastic  re- 
ports about  the  comforts  of  the  establishment.  For  his  sake, 
Madame  la  Baronne  de  Smolensk  would  make  unheard-of  sacri- 
fices, in  order  to  accommodate  the  General  and  his  distinguished 
party.  The  balls  were  going  to  be  perfectly  splendid  that 
winter.  There  were  several  old  Indians  living  near ;  in  fact 
they  could  form  a  regular  little  club.  It  was  agreed  that  Baynes 
should  go  and  reconnoitre  the  ground.  He  did  go.  Madame 
de  Smolensk,  a  most  elegant  woman,  had  a  magnificent  dinner 
for  him — quite  splendid,  I  give  you  my  word,  but  only  what 
they  have  every  day.  Soup,  of  course,  my  love  ;  fish,  capital 
wine,  and,  I  should  say,  some  five  or  six  and  thirty  made  dishes. 
The  General  was  quite  enraptured.  Bunch  had  put  his  boys  to 
a  famous  school,  where  they  might  "  whop  "  the  French  boys, 
and  learn  all  the  modern  languages.  The  little  ones  would 
dine  early;  the  baroness  would  take  the  whole  family  at  an 
astonishingly  cheap  rate.  In  a  word,  the  Baynes'  column  got 
the  route  for  Paris  shortly  before  our  family-party  was  crossing 
the  seas  to  return  to  London  fogs  and  duty. 

You  have,  no  doubt,  remarked  how,  under  certain  tender 
circumstances,  women  will  help  one  another.  They  help  where 
they  ought  not  to  help.  When  Mr.  Darby  ought  to  be  separated 
from  Miss  Joan,  and  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  for  both 
would  be  a  lettre  de  cachet  to  whip  off  Mons.  Darby  to  the 
Bastile  for  five  years,  and  an  order  from  her  parents  to  lock  up 
Mademoiselle  Jeanne  in  a  convent,  some  aunt,  some  relative, 
some  pitying  female  friend  is  sure  to  be  found,  who  will  give 
the  pair  a  chance  of  meeting,  and  turn  her  head  away  whilst 
those  unhappy  lovers  are  warbling  endless  good-byes  close  up 
to  each  other's  ears.  My  wife,  I  have  said,  chose  to  feel  this 
absurd  sympathy  for  the  young  people  about  whom  we  have 
been  just  talking.  As  the  days  for  Charlotte's  departure  drew 
near,  this  wretched,  misguiding  matron  would  take  the  girl  out 
walking  into  I  know  not  what  unfrequented  bye-lanes,  quiet 
streets,  rampart-nooks,  and  the  like ;  and  la !  by  the  most 
singular  coincidence,  Mr.  Philip's  hulking  boots  would  assuredly 


3'° 


THK  ADl'KA'TnRES  01'  Pl/JLIP 


come  tramping  after  the  women's  little  feet.  What  will  you 
say,  when  I  tell  you,  that  I  myself,  the  father  of  the  family, 
the  renter  of  the  old-fashioned  house,  Rue  Roucoule,  Haute 
Ville,  Boulogne-sur-Mcr — as  I  am  going  into  my  own  study — 
am  met  at  the  threshold  by  Helen,  my  eldest  daughter,  \vho 
puts  her  little  arms  before  the  glass  door  at  which  I  was  about 
to  enter,  and  says,  "  You  must  not  go  in  there,  papa  !  Mamma 
says  we  none  of  us  are  to  go  in  there." 

"  And  why,  pray  ?  ''   I  ask. 

"Because  Uncle  Philip  and  Charlotte  are  talking  secrets 
there  ;  and  nobody  is  to  disturb  them — 7iobody  T' 

Upon  my  word,  wasn't  this  too  monstrous  "i  Am  I  Sir 
Pandarus  of  Troy  become  ?  Am  I  going  to  allow  a  penniless 
young  man  to  steal  away  the  heart  of  a  young  girl  who  has  not 
twopence  halfpenny  to  her  fortune  ?  Shall  I,  I  say,  lend 
myself  to  this  most  unjustifiable  intrigue  ? 

"  Sir,"  says  my  wife  (we  happened  to  have  been  bred  up 
from  childhood  together,  and  I  own  to  have  had  one  or  two 
foolish  initiatory  flirtations  before  I  settled  down  to  matrimo- 
nial fidelity) — "  Sir,"  says  she,  "  when  you  were  so  wild — so 
spoony,  I  think  is  your  elegant  word — about  Blanche,  and  used 
to  put  letters  into  a  hollow  tree  for  her  at  home,  1  used  to  see 
the  letters,  and  I  never  disturbed  them.  These  two  people 
have  much  warmer  hearts,  and  are  a  great  deal  fonder  of  each 
other,  than  you  and  Blanche  used  to  be.  I  should  not  like 
to  separate  Charlotte  from  Philip  now.  It  is  too  late,  sir. 
She  can  never  like  anybody  else  as  she  likes  him.  If  she  lives 
to  be  a  hundred,  she  will  never  forget  him.  \\^hy  should  not 
the  poor  thing  be  happy  a  little,  while  she  may  .''  " 

An  old  house,  with  a  green  old  courtyard  and  an  ancient 
mossy  wall,  through  breaks  of  which  I  can  see  the  roofs  and 
gables  of  the  quaint  old  town,  the  city  below,  the  shining  sea, 
and  the  white  English  cliffs  beyond  ;  a  green  old  courtyard, 
and  a  tall  old  stone  house  rising  up  in  it,  grown  over  with  many 
a  creeper  on  which  the  sun  casts  flickering  shadows  ;  and  under 
the  shadows,  and  through  the  glass  of  a  tall  gray  window,  I  can 
just  peep  into  a  brown  twilight  parlor,  and  there  I  see  two  hazy 
figures  by  a  table.  One  slim  figure  has  brown  hair,  and  one 
has  flame-colored  whiskers.  Look,  a  ray  of  sunshine  has  just 
peered  into  the  room,  and  is  lighting  the  whiskers  up  ! 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  whispers  my  wife,  very  gently.  "  They 
are  going  away  to-morrow.  Let  them  have  their  talk  out.  She 
is  crying  her  little  eyes  out,  I  am  sure.    Poor  little  Charlotte  !  " 

Whilst  my  wife  was  pitying  Miss  Charlotte  in  this  pathetic 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGIJ   Tlfh    WORLD.  3J1 

way,  and  was  going,  I  dare  say,  to  have  recourse  to  her  own 
pocket-handkerchief,  as  I  live  there  came  a  burst  of  laughter 
from  the  darkling  chamber  where  the  two  lovers  were  billing 
and  cooing.  First  came  Mr.  I'hilip's  great  boom  (such  a  roar 
— such  a  haw-haw,  or  hee-haw,  I  never  heard  any  other  tuw- 
legged  animal  perform).  Then  follows  Miss  Charlotte's  tinkling 
peal  ;  and  presently  that  young  person  comes  out  into  the 
garden,  with  her  round  face  not  bedewed  with  tears  at  all,  but 
perfectly  rosy,  fresh,  dimpled,  and  good-humored.  Charlotte 
gives  me  a  little  curtsey,  and  my  wife  a  hand  and  a  kind  glance. 
They  retreat  through  the  open  casement,  twining  round  each 
other,  as  the  vine  does  round  the  window ;  though  which  is  the 
vine  and  which  is  the  window  in  this  simile,  I  pretend  not  to 
say — I  can't  see  through  either  of  them,  that  is  the  truth. 
They  pass  through  the  parlor,  and  into  the  street  beyond, 
doubtless :  and  as  for  Mr.  Philip,  I  presently  see  his  head 
popped  out  of  his  window  in  the  upper  floor  with  his  great  pipe 
in  his  mouth.  He  can't  "  work  "  without  his  pipe,  he  says  ; 
and  my  wife  believes  him.     Work  indeed  ! 

Miss  Charlotte  paid  us  another  little  visit  that  evening, 
when  we  happened  to  be  alone.  The  children  were  gone  to 
bed.  The  darlings  !  Charlotte  must  go  up  and  kiss  them. 
Mr,  Philip  Firmin  was  out.  She  did  not  seem  to  miss  him  in 
the  least,  nor  did  she  make  a  single  inquiry  for  him.  We  had 
been  so  good  to  her — so  kind.  How  could  she  ever  forget  our 
great  kindness  ?  She  had  been  so  happy — oh  !  so  happy  ! 
She  had  never  been  so  happy  before.  She  would  write  often 
and  often,  and  Laura  would  write  constantly — wouldn't  she  ? 
"  Yes,  dear  child  !  "  says  my  wife.  And  now  a  little  more 
kissing,  and  it  is  time  to  go  home  to  the  Tintilleries.  What  a 
lovely  night !  Indeed  the  moon  was  blazing  in  full  round  in 
the  purple  hea\ens,  and  the  stars  were  twinkling  by  myriads. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Charlotte  ;  happiness  go  witlT  you  !  "  I 
seize  her  hand.  I  feel  a  paternal  desire  to  kiss  her  fair,  round 
face.  Her  sweetness,  her  happiness,  her  artless  good-humor, 
and  gentleness  has  endeared  her  to  us  all.  As  for  me,  I  love 
her  with  a  fatherly  affection.  "  Stay,  my  dear !  "  I  cr)^,  with  a 
happy  gallantry,  "  I'll  go  home  with  you  to  the  Tintilleries." 

You  should  have  seen  the  fair  round  face  then  !  Such  a 
piteous  expression  came  over  it !  She  looked  at  my  wife  ;  and 
as  for  that  Mrs.  Laura  she  pulled  the  tail  of  my  coat. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  ?  "  I  ask. 

"  Don't  go  out  on  such  a  dreadful  night.  You'll  catch 
cold  !  "  says  Laura. 


312 


TJIE  ADVENTURES  OF  Pin  LI  I' 


"  Cold,  my  love  !  "  I  say.  "  Why,  it's  as  fine  a  night  as 
ever " 

"  Oh  !  you — you  stoopid !"  says  Laura,  and  bci^ins  to  laugh. 
And  there  goes  Miss  Charlotte  tripphig  away  from  us  witliout 
a  word  more. 

Philip  came  in  about  half  an  hour  afterwards.  And  do  you 
know  I  very  strongly  suspect  that  he  had  been  waiting  round 
the  corner.  Few  things  escape  wf,  you  see,  when  I  have  a 
mind  to  be  observant.  And,  certainly,  if  I  had  thought  of 
that  possibility  and  that  I  might  be  spoiling  sport,  I  should  not 
have  proposed  to  Miss  Charlotte  to  walk  home  with  her. 

At  a  very  early  hour  on  the  next  morning  my  wife  arose, 
and  spent,  in  my  opinion,  a  great  deal  of  unprofitable  time, 
bread,  butter,  cold  beef,  mustard  and  salt,  in  compiling  a  heap 
of  sandwiches,  which  were  tied  up  in  a  copy  of  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette.  That  persistence  in  making  sandwiches,  in  providing 
cakes  and  other  refreshments  for  a  journey,  is  a  strange 
infatuation  in  women  ;  as  if  there  was  not  always  enough  to 
eat  to  be  had  at  road  inns  and  railway  stations  !  What  a  good 
dinner  we  used  to  have  at  I\Iontreuil  in  the  old  days,  before 
railways  were,  and  when  the  diligence  spent  four  or  six  and 
twenty  cheerful  hours  on  it's  way  to  Paris  !  1  think  the  finest 
dishes  are  not  to  be  compared  to  that  well-remembered  frican- 
deau  of  youth,  nor  do  wines  of  the  most  dainty  vintage  surpass 
the  rough,  honest,  blue  ordinaire  which  was  served  at  the 
plenteous  inn-table.  I  took  our  bale  of  sandwiches  down  to 
the  office  of  the  Messageries,  whence  our  friends  were  to  start. 
We  saw  six  of  the  Baynes  family  packed  into  the  interior  of 
the  diligence  ;  and  the  boys  climb  cheerily  into  the  rotonde. 
Charlotte's  pretty  lips  and  hands  wafted  kisses  to  us  from  her 
corner.  Mrs.  General  Baynes  commanded  the  column,  pushed 
the  little  ones  into  their  places  in  the  ark,  ordered  the  General 
and  young 'bnes  hither  and  thither  with  her  parasol,  declined  to 
give  the  grumbling  porters  any  but  the  smallest  gratuity,  and 
talked  a  shrieking  jargon  of  French  and  Hindostanee  to  the 
people  assembled  round  the  carriage.  My  wife  has  that  com- 
mand over  me  that  she  actually  made  me  demean  myself  so  far 
as  to  deliver  the  sandwich  parcel  to  one  of  the  Baynes  boys.  I 
said,  "  Take  this,"  and  the  poor  wretch  held  out  his  hand 
eagerly,  evidently  expecting  that  I  was  about  to  tip  him  with  a 
five-franc  piece  or  some  such  coin.  Fouetie,  cocker  /  The 
horses  squeal.  The  huge  machine  jingles  over  the  road,  and 
rattles  down  the  .street.  Farewell,  pretty  Charlotte,  with  your 
sweet  face  and  sweet  voice  and  kind  eyes  !  But  why,  pray,  is 
Mr.  I'hilip  I'irmin  not  here  to  say  farewell  too? 


'Jiff. 


fli 


±~  ':^?^y^ 


'jif-^Lt^^, 


charlotte's   CONVnY. 


ON  HIS  JF.ir  rHROUGH  THE   WORLD.  313 

Before  the  diligence  had  got  under  way,  the  l)aynes  boys 
had  fought,  and  quarrelled,  and  wanted  to  mount  on  the 
imperial  or  cabriolet  of  the  carriage,  where  there  was  only  one 
passenger  as  yet.  But  the  conductor  called  the  lads  off,  saying 
that  the  remaining  place  was  engaged  by  a  gentleman  who  they 
were  to  take  up  on  the  road.  And  who  should  this  turn  out  to 
be  ?  Just  outside  the  town  a  man  springs  up  to  the  imperial ; 
his  light  luggage,  it  appears,  was  on  the  coach  already,  and 
rhat  luggage  belonged  to  Philip  Firmin.  Ah,  monsieur  !  and 
that  was  the  reason,  was  it,  why  they  were  so  merry  yesterday 
— the  parting  day  ?  Because  they  were  not  going  to  part  just 
then.  Because,  when  the  time  of  execution  drew  near,  they 
had  managed  to  smuggle  a  little  reprieve  !  Upon  my  con- 
science, I  never  heard  of  such  imprudence  in  the  whole  course 
of  my  life  !  Why,  it  is  starvation — certain  misery  to  one  and 
the  other.  "  I  don't  like  to  meddle  in  other  people's  affairs," 
I  say  to  my  wife  ;  "  but  I  have  no  patience  with  such  folly,  or 
with  myself  for  not  speaking  to  General  Baynes  on  the  subject. 
I  shall  write,  to  the  General." 

"  My  dear,  the  General  knows  all  about  it,"  says  Charlotte's, 
Philip's  (in  my  opinion)  most  injudicious  friend.  "  We  have 
talked  about  it,  and,  like  a  man  of  sense,  the  General  makes 
light  of  it.  '  Young  folks  will  be  young  folks,'  he  says  ;  '  and, 
by  George  !  ma'am,  when  I  married — I  should  say,  when  Mrs. 
B.  ordered  me  to  marry  her — she  had  nothing,  and  I  but  my 
captain's  pay.  People  get  on,  somehow.  Better  for  a  young 
man  to  marry,  and  keep  out  of  idleness  and  mischief  ;  and  I 
promise  you,  the  chap  who  marries  my  girl  gets  a  treasure.  I 
like  the  boy  for  the  sake  of  my  old  friend  Phil  Ringwood. 
I  don't  see  that  the  fellows  with  the  rich  wives  are  much  the 
happier,  or  that  men  should  wait  to  marry  until  they  are  gouty 
old  rakes.'  "  And,  it  appears,  the  General  instanced  several 
officers  of  his  own  acquaintance  ;  some  of  whom  had  married 
when  they  were  young  and  poor  ;  some  who  had  married  when 
they  were  old  and  sulky  ;  some  who  had  never  married  at  all. 
And  he  mentioned  his  comrade,  my  own  uncle,  the  late  Major 
Pendennis,  whom  he  called  a  selfish  old  creature,  and  hinted 
that  the  Major  had  jilted  some  lady  in  early  life,  whom  he 
would  have  done  much  better  to  marry. 

And  so  Philip  is  actually  gone  after  his  charmer,  and  is  pur- 
suing her  suvima  diligcntia  ?  The  Baynes  fa)nily  has  allowed 
this  penniless  young  law  student  to  make  love  to  their  daughter, 
or  accompany  them  to  Paris,  to  appear  as  the  almost  recognized 
son  of  the  house.     "  Other    people,  when  they  were    young 


3^4 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  miLir 


wanted  to  make  imprudent  marriages,"  says  my  wife  (as  if  that 
wretclied  ///  quoque  were  any  answer  to  my  remark  !  )  "  This 
penniless  law  student  might  liave  had  a  good  sum  of  money  if 
he  chose  to  press  the  J'aynes  family  to  pay  him  what,  after  all, 
they  owe  him."  And  so  poor  little  Charlotte  was  to  be  her 
father's  ransom  !  To  be  sure  little  Charlotte  did  not  object  to 
ofTer  herself  up  in  payment  of  her  papa's  debt !  And  though  I 
objected  as  a  moral  man  and  a  prudent  man,  and  a  father  of  a 
family,  I  could  not  be  very  seriously  angry.  I  am  secretly  of 
the  disposition  of  the  time-honored /^/r  defamille  in  the  come- 
dies, the  irascible  old  gentleman  in  the  crop  wig  and  George- 
the-Second  coat,  who  is  always  menacing  "  Tom  the  young 
Dog "  with  his  cane.  When  the  deed  is  done,  and  Miranda 
(the  little  sly-boots  !)  falls  before  my  square-toes  and  shoe-buckles 
and  Tom,  the  young  dog,  kneels  before  me  in  his  white  ducks, 
and  they  cry  out  in  a  pretty  chorus,  "  Forgive,  us  grandpapa  !  " 
I  say,  "Well,  you  rogue,  boys  will  be  boys.  Take  her,  sirrah  ! 
Be  happy  with  her ;  and,  hark  ye  !  in  this  pocket-book  you  will 
find  ten  thousand,"  &c.,  &c.  You  all  know  the  stor}'- :  I  cannot 
help  liking  it,  however  old  it  may  be.  In  love,  somehow,  one 
is  pleased  that  young  people  should  dare  a  little.  Was  not 
Bessy  Eldon  famous  as  an  economist,  and  Lord  Eldon  cele- 
brated for  wisdom  and  caution  ?  and  did  not  John  Scott  marry 
Elizabeth  Surtees  when  they  had  scarcely  twopence  a  year  be- 
tween them  ?  "  Of  course,  my  dear,"  I  say  to  the  partner  of  my 
existence,  "  now  this  madcap  fellow  is  utterly  ruined,  now  is  the 
very  time  he  ought  to  marry.  The  accepted  doctrine  is  that  a 
man  should  spend  his  own  fortune,  then  his  wife's  fortune,  and 
then  he  may  begin  to  get  on  at  the  bar.  Philip  has  a  hundred 
pounds,  let  us  say  ;  Charlotte  has  nothing  ;  so  that  in  about  six 
weeks   we   may   look   to   hear   of    Philip  being   in    successful 

practice " 

"  Successful  nonsense  !  "  cries  the  lady,  "  Don't  go  on  like 
a  cold-blooded  calculating  machine  !  You  don't  believe  a  word 
of  what  you  say,  and  a  more  imprudent  person  never  lived  than 
you  yourself  were  as  a  young  man."  This  was  departing  from 
the  question,  which  women  will  do,  "  Nonsense !  "  again  says 
my  romantic  being  of  a  partner-of-existence.  "  Don't  tell  i\ie, 
sir.  They  will  be  provided  for  !  Are  we  to  be  for  ever  taking 
care  of  the  morrow,  and  not  trusting  that  we  shall  be  cared  for? 
You  may  call  your  way  of  thinking  prudence.  I  call  it  sinful 
worldiiness,  sir."  When  my  life-partner  speaks  in  a  certain 
strain,  I  know  that  remonstrance  is  useless,  and  argument  una- 
vailing, and  I  generally  resort  to  cowardly  subterfuges,  and 


ON  HIS  WAY  TI/ROUGII  THE  WORLD, 


315 


sneak  oul  of  the  conversation  by  a  pun,  a  side  joke,  or  some 
otlier  flippancy.  Besides,  in  this  case,  though  I  argue  against 
my  wife,  my  sympathy  is  on  her  side.  I  know  Mr.  Philip  is 
imprudent  and  headstrong,  but  I  should  like  him  to  succeed, 
and  be  happy.     I  own  he  is  a  scapegrace,  but  I  wish  him  well. 

So,  just  as  the  diligence  of  Lafitte  and  Caillard  is  clearing 
out  of  Boulogne  town,  the  conductor  causes  the  carriage  to 
stop,  and  a  young  fellow  has  mounted  up  on  the  roof  in  a  twink- 
ling ;  and  the  postilion  says  "  Hi !  "  to  his  horses,  and  away 
those  squealing  grays  go  clattering.  And  a  young  lady,  hap- 
pening to  look  out  of  one  of  the  windows  of  the  interieur,  has 
perfectly  recognized  the  young  gentleman  who  leaped  up  to  the 
roof  so  nimbly  :  and  the  two  boys  who  were  in  the  rotonde 
would  have  recognized  the  gentleman,  but  that  they  were 
already  eating  the  sandwiches  which  my  wife  had  provided. 
And  so  the  diligence  goes  on,  until  it  reaches  that  hill,  where 
the  girls  used  to  come  and  offer  to  sell  you  apples  ;  and  some 
of  the  passengers  descend  and  walk,  and  the  tall  young  man 
on  the  roof  jumps  down,  and  approaches  the  party  in  the  in- 
terior, and  a  young  lady  cries  out  "  La  !  "  and  her  mamma  looks 
impenetrably  grave,  and  not  in  the  least  surprised  ;  and  her 
father  gives  a  wink  of  one  eye,  and  says,  "  It's  him,  is  it,  by 
George  !  "  and  the  two  boys  coming  out  of  the  rotonde,  their 
mouths  full  of  sandwich,  cry  out,  "  Hullo  !     It's  Mr.  Firmin." 

"  How  do  you,  do  ladies  ?  "  he  says,  blushing  as  red  as  an 
apple,  and  his  heart  thumping — but  that  may  be  from  walking 
up  hill.  And  he  puts  a  hand  towards  the  carriage  window,  and 
a  little  hand  comes  out  and  lights  on  his.  And  Mrs.  General 
Baynes,  who  is  reading  a  religious  work,  looks  up  and  says, 
"  Oh  !  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Firmin  ?  "  And  this  is  the  remark- 
able dialogue  that  takes  place.  It  is  not  very  witty ;  but 
Philip's  tones  send  a  rapture  into  one  young  heart :  and  when 
he  is  absent,  and  has  climbed  up  to  his  place  in  the  cabriolet, 
the  kick  of  his  boots  on  the  roof  gives  the  said  young  heart 
inexpressible  comfort  and  consolation.  Shine  stars  and  moon. 
Shriek  gray  horses  through  the  calm  night.  Snore  sweetly, 
papa  and  mamma,  in  your  corners,  with  your  pocket-handker- 
chiefs tied  round  your  old  fronts  !  I  suppose,  under  all  the 
stars  of  heaven,  there  is  nobody  more  happy  than  that  child  in 
that  carriage — that  wakeful  girl,  in  sweet  maiden  meditation — 
who  has  given  her  heart  to  the  keeping  of  the  champion  who 
is  so  near  her.  Has  he  not  been  always  their  champion  and 
preserver  ?  Don't  they  owe  to  his  generosity  everything  in  life  ? 
One  of  the  little  sisters  wakes  wildly,  and  cries  in  the  night, 


3 1 6  THE  A  D  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

and  Charlotte  takes  the  child  into  her  arms  and  soothes  her. 
"  Hush,  dear  !  lie's  there — he's  there,"  she  whispers,  as  she 
bends  over  the  child.  Nothing  wrong  can  happen  with  hwi 
there,  she  feels.  If  the  robbers  were  to  spring  out  from  yonder 
dark  pines,  why,  he  would  jump  down,  and  they  would  all  fly 
before  him  !  The  carriage  rolls  on  through  sleeping  villages, 
and  as  the  old  team  retires  all  in  a  halo  of  smoke,  and  the 
fresh  horses  come  clattering  up  to  their  pole,  Charlotte  sees  a 
well-known  white  face  in  the  gleam  of  the  carriage  lanterns. 
Through  the  long  avenues  the  great  vehicle  rolls  on  its  course. 
The  dawn  peers  over  the  poplars :  the  stars  quiver  out  of  sight : 
the  sun  is  up  in  the  sky,  and  the  heaven  is  all  in  a  flame.  The 
night  is  over — the  night  of  nights.  In  all  the  round  world, 
whether  lighted  by  stars  or  sunshine,  there  were  not  two  people 
more  happy  than  these  had  been. 

A  ver}^  short  time  afterwards,  at  the  end  of  October,  our 
own  little  sea-side  sojourn  came  to  an  end.  That  astounding 
bill  for  broken  glass,  chairs,  crocker}?^,  was  paid.  The  London 
steamer  takes  us  all  on  board  on  a  beautiful,  sunny  autumn 
evening,  and  lands  us  at  the  Custom-house  Quay  in  the  midst 
of  a  deep,  dun  fog,  through  which  our  cabs  have  to  work  their 
way  over  greasy  pavements,  and  bearing  two  loads  of  silent 
and  terrified  children.  Ah,  that  return,  if  but  after  a  fortnight's 
absence  and  holiday  !  Oh,  that  heap  of  letters  lying  in  a 
ghastly  pile,  and  yet  so  clearly  visible  in  the  dim  twilight  of 
master's  study  !  We  cheerfully  breakfast  by  candlelight  for  the 
first  two  days  after  my  arrival  at  home,  and  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  cutting  a  part  of  my  chin  off  because  it  is  too  dark  to  shave 
at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

My  wife  can't  be  so  unfeeling  as  to  laugh  and  be  merry 
because  I  have  met  with  an  accident  which  temporarily  dis- 
figures me.  If  the  dun  fog  makes  her  jocular,  she  has  a  very 
queer  sense  of  humor.  She  has  a  letter  before  her,  over  which 
she  is  perfectly  radiant.  When  she  is  especially  pleased  I  can 
see  by  her  face  and  a  particular  animation  and  affectionateness 
towards  the  rest  of  the  family.  On  this  present  morning  her 
face  beams  out  of  the  fog-clouds.  The  room  is  illuminated 
by  it,  and  perhaps  by  the  two  candles  which  are  placed  one 
on  either  side  of  the  urn.  The  fire  crackles,  and  flames,  and 
spits  most  cheerfully ;  and  the  sky  without,  which  is  of  the  hue 
of  brown  paper,  seems  to  set  off  the  brightness  of  the  little 
interior  scene. 

"  A  letter  from  Charlotte,  papa,"  cries  one  little  girl,  with 
an   air  of  consequence.      "  And   a  letter  from  Uncle   Philio, 


ON  HIS  IVAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


317 


papa!"  cries  another,  "and  they  like  Paris  so  much,"  con- 
linues  the  little  reporter. 

"  And  there,  sir,  didn't  I  tell  you  ?  "  cries  the  lady,  handing 
me  over  a  letter. 

"  Mamma  always  told  you  so,"  echoes  the  child,  with  an 
important  nod  of  the  head  ;  "  and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if 
he  were  to  be  very  rich,  should  you,  mamma  ?  "  continues  this 
aritlimeticvan. 

I  would  not  put  Miss  Charlotte's  letter  into  print  if  I  could, 
for  do  you  know  that  little  person's  grammar  was  frequently  in- 
correct ;  there  were  three  or  four  words  spelt  wrongly ;  and  the 
letter  was  so  scored  and  jfiarked  with  dashes  under  ei-ery  other 
word,  that  it  is  clear  to  me  her  education  had  been  neglected  j 
and  as  I  am  very  fond  of  her,  I  do  not  wish  to  make  fun  of  her. 
And  I  can't  print  Mr.  Philip's  letter,  for  I  haven't  kept  it.  Of 
what  use  keeping  letters  ?  I  say.  Burn,  burn,  burn.  No  heart- 
pangs.  No  reproaches.  No  yesterday.  Was  it  happy,  or 
miserable  .^  To  thinks  of  it  is  always  melancholy.  Go  to  !  I 
dare  say  it  is  the  thought  of  that  fog,  which  is  making  this  sen- 
tence so  dismal.  Meanwhile  there  is  Madame  Laura's  face 
smiling  out  of  the  darkness,  as  pleased  as  may  be  ;  and  no 
wonder,  she  is  always  happy  when  her  friends  are  so. 

Charlotte's  letter  contained  a  full  account  of  the  settlement 
of  the  Baynes  family  at  Madame  Smolensk's  boarding-house, 
where  they  appear  to  have  been  really  very  comfortable,  and  to 
have  lived  at  a  very  cheap  rate.  As  for  Mr.  Philip,  he  made 
his  way  to  a  crib,  to  which  his  artist  friends  had  recommended 
him,  on  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  side  of  the  water — the 
"  Hotel  Poussin,"  in  the  street  of  that  name,  which  lies,  you 
know,  between  the  Mazarin  Library  and  the  Musee  des  Beaux 
Arts.  In  former  days,  my  gentleman  had  lived  in  state  and 
bounty  in  the  English  hotels  and  quarter.  Now  he  found  him- 
self very  handsomely  lodged  for  thirty  francs  per  month,  and 
with  five  or  six  pounds,  he  has  repeatedly  said  since,  he  could 
carry  through  the  month  very  comfortably.  I  don't  say,  my 
young  traveller,  that  you  can  be  so  lucky  now-a-days.  Are  we 
not  telling  a  story  of  twenty  years  ago  ?  Aye,  marry.  Ere 
steam-coaches  had  begun  to  scream  on  P>ench  rails ;  and  when 
Louis  Philippe  was  king. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is  ruined  he  must  needs  fall 
in  love.  In  order  to  be  near  the  beloved  object,  he  must  needs 
follow  her  to  Paris,  and  give  up  his  promised  studies  for  the  bar 
at  home  ;  where,  to  do  him  justice,  I  believe  the  fellow  would 
never  have  done  any  good.     And  he  has  not  been  in  Paris  a 


3i8  THE  A  J)  VENTURES  OE  PllfLlF 

fortuigiil.  wlien  that  fantastic  jade  Fortune,  who  had  seemed  to 
fly  away  from  him,  gives  him  a  smiling  look  of  recognition,  as 
if  to  say,   "Young  gentleman,  I  have  not  quite  done  with  you." 

The  good  fortune  was  not  much.  Do  not  suppose  that 
I'hilip  suddenly  drew  a  twenty-thousand  pound  prize  in  a  lottery. 
J^ut,  being  in  much  want  of  money,  he  suddenly  found  himself 
enabled  to  earn  some  in  a  way  pretty  easy  to  himself. 

In  the  first  place,  Philip  found  his  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mugford  in  a  bewildered  state  in  the  midst  of  Paris,  in  which 
city  Mugford  would  never  consent  to  have  a  laquais  de place, 
being  firmly  convinced  to  the  day  of  his  death  that  he  knew  the 
French  language  quite  sufficiently  for  all  purposes  of  conver- 
sation. Philip,  who  had  often  visited  Paris  before,  came  to 
the  aid  of  his  friends  in  a  two-franc  dining-house,  which  he  fre- 
quented for  economy's  sake  ;  and  they,  because  they  thought 
the  banquet  there  provided  not  only  cheap,  but  most  magnif- 
icent and  satisfactory.  He  interpreted  for  them,  and  rescued 
them  from  their  perplexity,  whatever  it  was.  He  treated  them 
handsomely  to  caffy  on  the  bullyvard,  as  Mugford  said  on  re- 
turning home  and  in  recounting  the  adventure  to  me,  "  He 
can't  forget  that  he  has  been  a  swell  :  and  he  does  do  things 
like  a  gentleman,  that  Firmin  does.  He  came  back  with  us  to 
our  hotel — Meurice's,"  said  Mr.  Mugford,  "  and  who  should 
drive  into  the  yard  and  step  out  of  his  carriage  but  Lord  Ring- 
wood — you  know  Lord  Ringwood  ?  ever}'body  knows  him.  As 
he  gets  out  of  his  carriage — '  What !  is  that  you,  Philip  ? '  says 
his  lordship,  giving  the  young  fellow  his  hand.  '  Come  and 
breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  morning.'  And  away  he  goes 
most  friendly." 

How  came  it  to  pass  that  Lord  Ringwood,  whose  instinct 
of  self-preservation  was  strong — who,  I  fear,  was  rather  a  self- 
ish nobleman — and  who,  of  late,  as  we  have  heard,  had  given 
orders  to  refuse  Mr.  Philip  entrance  at  his  door — should  all 
of  a  sudden  turn  round  and  greet  the  young  man  with 
cordiality  ?  In  the  first  place,  Philip  had  never  troubled  his 
lordship's  knocker  at  all  ;  and  second,  as  luck  would  have  it, 
on  this  very  day  of  their  meeting  his  lordship  had  been 
to  dine  with  that  well-known  Parisan  resident  and  bon-vivafii, 
my  Lord  Viscount  Trim,  who  had  been  governor  of  the  Sago 
Islands  when  Colonel  Paynes  was  there  with  his  regiment,  the 
gallant  looth.  y\nd  the  General  and  his  old  West  India  gov- 
ernor meeting  at  church,  my  Lord  Trim  straightway  asked 
General  Paynes  to  dinner,  where  Lord  Ringwood  was  present, 
along  with  other  distinguished  company,  whom   at  present  we 


ON  HIS  iVAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


319 


need  not  particularize.  Now  it  has  been  said  that  Philip  Ring- 
wood,  my  lord's  brother,  and  Captain  Baynes  in  early  youth 
had  been  close  friends,  and  that  the  Colonel  had  died  in  the 
Captain's  arms.  Lord  Ringwood,  who  had  an  excellent  memory 
when  he  chose  to  use  it,  was  pleased  on  this  occasion  to  re- 
member General  Baynes  and  his  intimacy  with  his  brother  in 
old  days.  And  of  those  old  times  they  talked  ;  the  General 
waxing  more  eloquent,  I  suppose,  than  his  wont  over  Lord 
Trim's  excellent  wine.  And  in  the  course  of  conversation 
Philip  was  named,  and  the  General,  warm  with  drink,  poured 
out  a  most  enthusiastic  eulogium  on  his  young  friend,  and  men- 
tioned how  noble  and  self-denying  Philip's  conduct  had  been  in 
his  own  case.  And  perhaps  Lord  Ringwood  was  pleased  at 
hearing  the  praises  of  his  brother's  grandson  ;  and  perhaps  he 
thought  of  old  times,  when  he  had  a  heart,  and  he  and  his 
brother  loved  each  other.  And  though  he  might  think  Philip 
Firmin  an  absurd  young  blockhead  for  giving  up  any  claims 
which  he  might  have  on  General  Baynes,  at  any  rate  I  have  no 
doubt  his  lordship  thought,  "This  boy  is  not  likely  to  come 
begging  money  from  me  !  "  Hence,  when  he  drove  back  to  his 
hotel  on  the  very  night  after  this  dinner,  and  in  the  courtyard 
saw  that  Philip  Firmin,  his  brother's  grandson,  the  heart  of  the 
old  nobleman  was  smitten  with  a  kindly  sentiment,  and  he  bade 
'Philip  to  come  and  see  him. 

I  have  described  some  of  Philip's  oddities,  and  amongst 
these  was  a  very  remarkable  change  in  his  appearance,  which 
ensued  very  speedily  after  his  ruin.  I  know  that  the  greater 
number  of  story  readers  are  young,  and  those  who  are  ever  so 
old  remember  that  their  own  young  days  occurred  but  a  very, 
very  short  while  ago.  Don't  you  remember,  most  potent,  grave, 
and  reverend  senior,  when  you  were  a  junior,  and  actually 
rather  pleased  with  new  clothes  ?  Does  a  new  coat  or  a  waist- 
coat cause  you  any  pleasure  now  .?  To  a  well-constituted  mid- 
dle-aged gentleman,  I  rather  trust  a  smart  new  suit  causes  a 
sensation  of  uneasiness — not  from  the  tightness  of  the  fit,  which 
may  be  a  reason — but  from  the  gloss  and  splendor.  When  my 
late  kind  friend,  Mrs. ,  gave  me  the  emerald  tabinet  waist- 
coat, with  the  gold  shamrocks,  I  wore  it  once  to  go  to  Rich- 
mond to  dine  with  her  ;  but  I  buttoned  myself  so  closely  in  an 
upper  coat,  that  I  am  sure  nobody  in  the  omnibus  saw  what  a 
painted  vest  I  had  on.  Gold  sprigs  and  emerald  tabinet,  what 
a  gorgeous  raiment  1  It  has  formed  for  ten  j^ears  the  chief 
ornament  of  my  wardrobe  ;  and  though  I  have  never  dared  to 
wear  it  since,  1  always  think  with  a  secret  pleasure  of  possess- 


320  JH^  ADVENTURES  OF  Pintir 

ing  that  treasure.  Do  women,  when  they  are  sixty,  like  hand- 
some and  faslnonable  attire,  and  a  youthful  appearance  ?  Look 
at  Lady  Jezebel's  blushini;  cheek,  her  raven  hair,  her  splendid 
garments  !  But  this  disquisition  may  be  carried  to  too  great  a 
length.  1  want  to  note  a  fact  which  has  occurred  not  seldom  in 
my  experience — that  men  who  have  been  great  dandies  will 
often  and  suddenly  give  up  their  long  accustomed  splendor  of 
dress,  and  walk  about,  most  happy  and  contented,  with  the 
shabbiest  of  coats  and  hats.  No.  The  majority  of  men  are 
not  vain  about  their  dress.  For  instance,  within  a  very  few 
years,  men  used  to  have  pretty  feet.  See  in  what  a  resolute 
way  they  have  kicked  their  pretty  boots  off  almost  to  a  man, 
and  wear  great,  thick,  formless,  comfortable  walking  boots,  of 
shape  scarcely  more  graceful  than  a  tub  ! 

When  Philip  Firmin  first  came  on  the  town,  there  were 
dandies  still ;  there  were  dazzling  waistcoats  of  velvet  and 
brocade,  and  tall  stocks  and  cataracts  of  satin  ;  there  were  pins, 
studs,  neck-chains,  I  know  not  what  fantastic  splendors  of 
youth.  His  varnished  boots  grew  upon  forests  of  trees.  He 
had  a  most  resplendent  silver-gilt  dressing-case,  presented  to 
him  by  his  father  (for  which,  it  is  true,  the  doctor  neglected  to 
pay,  leaving  that  duty  to  his  son).  "It  is  a  mere  ceremony," 
said  the  worthy  doctor,  "  a  cumbrous  thing  you  may  fancy  at 
first ;  but  take  it  about  with  you.  It  looks  well  on  a  man's 
dressing-table  at  a  country-house.  W. poses  a  man,  you  under- 
stand. I  have  known  women  come  in  and  peep  at  it.  A  trifle 
you  may  say,  my  boy  ;  but  what  is  the  use  of  flinging  any  chance 
in  life  away?"  Now,  when  misfortune  came,  young  Philip 
flung  away  all  these  magnificent  follies.  He  wrapped  himself 
virtute  sua  ;  and  1  am  bound  to  say  a  more  queer-looking  fellow 
than  friend  Philip  seldom  walked  the  pavement  of  London  or 
Paris.  He  could  not  wear  the  nap  off  all  his  coats,  or  rub  his 
elbows  into  rags  in  six  months  ;  but  as  he  would  say  of  himself 
with  much  simplicity,  "  1  do  think  I  run  to  seed  more  quickly 
than  any  fellow  I  ever  knew.  All  my  socks  in  holes,  Mrs. 
Pendennis  ;  all  my  shirt-buttons  gone,  I  give  you  my  word.  1 
don't  know  how  the  things  hold  together,  and  why  they  don't 
tumble  to  pieces.  I  suspect  I  must  have  a  bad  laundress." 
Suspect !  My  children  used  to  laugh  and  crow  as  they  sowed 
buttons  on  to  him.  As  for  the  Little  Sister,  she  broke  into 
his  apartments  in  his  absence,  and  said  that  it  turned  her  hair 
gray  to  see  the  state  of  his  poor  wardrobe.  1  believe  that  Mrs. 
Brandon  put  surreptitious  linen  into  his  drawers.  He  did  not 
know.     Fie  wore  the  shirts  in  a  contented  spirit     The  glossy 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


321 


boots  began  to  crack  and  then  to  burst,  and  Philip  wore  them 
with  perfect  equanimity.  Where  were  the  beautiful  lavender 
and  lemon  gloves  of  last  year  ?  His  great  naked  hands  (with 
which  he  gesticulates  so  grandly)  were  as  brown  as  an  Indian's 
now.  We  had  liked  him  heartily  in  his  days  of  splendor ;  we 
loved  him  now  in  his  threadbare  suit. 

I  can  fancy  the  young  man  striding  into  the  room  where  his 
lordship's  guests  were  assembled.  In  the  presence  of  great  or 
small,  Philip  has  always  been  entirely  unconcerned,  and  he  is 
one  of  the  half-dozen  men  I  have  seen  in  my  life  upon  whom 
rank  made  no  impression.  It  appears  that,  on  occasion  of  this 
breakfast,  there  were  one  or  two  dandies  present  who  were 
aghast  at  Philip's  freedom  of  behavior.  He  engaged  in  con- 
versation with  a  famous  French  statesman  ;  contradicted  him 
with  much  energy  in  his  own  language  ;  and  when  the  states- 
man asked  whether  monsieur  was  membre  du  Parlement  ? 
Philip  burst  into  one  of  his  roars  of  laughter,  which  almost 
breaks  the  glasses  on  a  table,  and  said,  "Je  suis  journaliste, 
monsieur,  a  vos  ordres  !  "  Young  Timbury  of  the  embassy  was 
aghast  at  Philip's  insolence ;  and  Dr.  Botts,  his  lordship's 
travelling  physician,  looked  at  him  with  a  terrified  face.  A 
bottle  of  claret  was  brought,  which  almost  all  the  gentlemen 
present  began  to  swallow,  until  Philip,  tasting  his  glass,  called 
out,  "  Faugh  !  It's  corked  !  "  "  So  it  is,  and  very  badly 
corked,"  growls  my  lord,  with  one  of  his  usual  oaths.  "Why 
didn't  some  of  you  fellows  speak  ?  Do  you  like  corked  wine  ?  " 
There  were  gallant  fellows  round  that  table  who  would  have 
drunk  corked  black  dose,  had  his  lordship  professed  to  like 
senna.  The  old  host  was  tickled  and  amused.  Your  mother 
was  a  quiet  soul,  and  your  father  used  to  bow  like  a  dancing- 
master.  You  ain't  much  like  him.  I  dine  at  home  most  days. 
Leave  word  in  the  morning  with  my  people,  and  come  when 
you  like,  Philip,"  he  growled.  A  part  of  this  news  Philip 
narrated  to  us  in  his  letter,  and  other  part  was  given  verbally 
by  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Mugford  on  their  return  to  London.  "  I  tell 
you,  sir,"  says  Mugford,  "  he  has  been  taken  by  the  hand  by 
some  of  the  tiptop  people,  and  I  have  booked  him  at  three 
guineas  a  week  for  a  letter  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.'' 

And  this  was  the  cause  of  my  wife's  exultation  and  triumph- 
ant "  Didn't  I  tell  you  !  "  Philip's  foot  was  on  the  ladder ;  and 
who  so  capable  of  mounting  to  the  top  ?  When  happiness 
and  a  fond  and  lovely  girl  were  waiting  for  him  there,  would  he 
lose  heart,  spare  exertion,  or  be  afraid  to  climb  ?  He  had  no 
truer   well-wisher  than  myself,  and  no  friend  who  liked  him 

21 


322 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PIIILTP 


better,  though,  I  dare  say,  many  admired  him  much  more  than 
I  did.  But  these  were  women  for  the  most  part ;  and  women 
become  so  absurdly  unjust  and  partial  to  persons  whom  they 
love,  when  these  latter  are  in  misfortune,  that  I  am  surprised 
Mr.  Philip  did  not  quite  lose  his  head  in  his  poverty,  with  such 
fond  flatterers  and  sycophants  round  about  him.  Would  you 
grudge  him  the  consolation  to  be  had  from  these  sweet  uses  of 
adversity  !  Many  a  heart  would  be  hardened  but  for  the 
memory  of  past  griefs  ;  when  eyes,  now  a\'erted,  perhaps,  were 
full  of  sympathy,  and  hands,  now  cold,  were  eager  to  soothe 
and  succor. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

QU'ON    EST   BIEN   A   VINGT  ANS. 


A  FAIR  correspondent — and  I  would  parenthetically  hint 
that-all  correspondents  are  not  fair — points  out  the  discrepancy 
existing  between  the  text  and  the  illustrations  of  our  story  ; 
and  justly  remarks  that  the  stor}-  dated  more  than  twenty  years 
back,  while  the  costumes  of  the  actors  of  our  little  comedy  are 
of  the  fashion  of  to-day» 

My  dear  madam,  these  anachronisms  must  be,  or  you  would 
scarcely  be  able  to  keep  any  interest  for  our  characters.  What 
would  be  a  woman  without  a  crinoline  petticoat,  for  example  ? 
an  object  ridiculous,  hateful,  I  suppose  hardly  proper.  What 
would  you  think  of  a  hero  who  wore  a  large  high  black-satin 
stock  cascading  over  a  figured  silk  waistcoat ;  and  a  blue  dress- 
coat,  with  brass  buttons,  mayhap  ?  Tf  a  person  so  attired  came 
up  to  ask  you  to  dance,  could  you  refrain  from  laughing  ?  Time 
was  when  young  men  so  decorated  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of 
damsels  who  had  never  beheld  hooped  petticoats,  except  in 
their  grandmother's  portraits.  Persons  who  flourished  in  the 
first  part  of  the  century  never  thought  to  see  the  hoops  of  our 
ancestor's  age  rolled  downwards  to  our  contemporaries  and 
children.  Did  we  ever  imagine  that  a  period  would  arrive  when 
our  young  men  would  part  their  hair  down  the  middle,  and 
wear  a  piece  of  tape  for  a  neckcloth  ?  As  soon  should  we  have 
thought  of  their  dyeing  their  bodies  with  woad,  and  arraying 
themselves  like  ancient  Britons.  So  the  ages  have  their  dress 
and  undress  ;  and  the  jrentlemen  and  ladies  of  Victoria's  time 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  3,3 

are  satisfied  with  their  manner  of  raiment ;  as  no  doubt  in 
Boadicea's  court  they  looked  charming  tattooed  and  painted 
blue. 

The  times  of  which  we  write,  the  times  of  Louis  Philippe 
the  king,  are  so  altered  from  the  present,  that  when  Philip 
Firmin  went  to  Paris  it  was  absolutely  a  cheap  place  to  live  in  ; 
and  he  has  often  bragged  in  subsequent  days  of  having  lived 
well  during  a  month  for  five  pounds,  and  bought  a  neat  waist- 
coat with  a  part  of  the  money.  "  A  capital  bedroom,  au 
premier,  for  a  franc  a  day,  sir,"  he  would  call  all  persons  to 
remark,  *'  a  bedroom  as  good  as  yours,  my  lord,  at  Meurice's. 
Very  good  tea  or  coffee  breakfast,  twenty  francs  a  month,  with 
lots  of  bread  and  butter.  Twenty  francs  a  month  for  washing, 
and  fifty  for  dinner  and  pocket-money — that's  about  the  figure. 
The  dinner,  I  own,  is  shy,  unless  I  come  and  dine  with  my 
friends  ;  and  then  I  make  up  for  banyan  days."  And  so  saying 
Philip  would  call  out  for  more  truftied  patridges,  or  affably  filled 
his  goblet  with  my  Lord  Ringwood's  best  Sillery.  "  At  those 
shops,"  he  would  observe,  "where  I  dine,  I  have  beer:  I  can't 
stand  the  wine.  And  you  see,  I  can't  go  to  the  cheap  English 
ordinaries,  of  which  there  are  many,  because  English  gentlemen's 
servants  are  there,  you  know,  and  it's  not  pleasant  to  sit  with  a 
fellow  who  waits  on  you  the  day  after." 

"  Oh  !  the  English  servants  go  to  the  cheap  ordinaries,  do 
they  ? "  asks  my  lord,  greatly  amused,  "  and  you  drink  Mere 
de  Mars  at  the  shop  where  you  dine  ?  " 

"  And  dine  very  badly,  too,  I  can  tell  you.  Always  come 
away  hungry.  Give  me  some  champagne — the  dr}^,  if  you 
please.  They  mix  very  well  together — sweet  and  dry.  Did 
you  ever  dine  at  Flicoteau's,  Mr.  Pecker  ?  " 

"  /  dine  at  one  of  your  horrible  two-franc  houses  ?  "  cries 
Mr.  Pecker,  with  a  look  of  terror.  "  Do  you  know,  my  lord, 
there  are  actually  houses  where  people  dine  for  two  francs  ?  " 

"  Two  francs  !  Seventeen  sous  !  "  bawls  out  Mr.  Firmin. 
"  The  soup,  the  beef,  the  roti,  the  salad,  the  dessert,  and  the 
whitey-brown  bread  at  discretion.  It's  not  a  good  dinner, 
certainl)' — in  fact,  it  is  a  dreadful  bad  one.  But  to  dine  so 
would  do  some  fellows  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"  What  do  you  say.  Pecker  ?  Flicoteau's  ;  seventeen  sous. 
We'll  make  a  little  party  and  try,  and  Firmin  shall  do  the 
honors  of  his  restaurant,"  says  my  lord,  with  a  grin, 

"  Mercy  !  "  gasps  Mr.  Pecker. 

"  I  had  rather  dine  here,  if  you  please,  my  lord,"  says  the 
young  man.     "This  is  cheaper,  and  certainly  better." 


324 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


My  lord's  doctor,  and  many  of  the  guests  at  his  table,  iny 
lord's  henchmen,  llatterers,  and  led  captains,  looked  aghast  at 
the  freedom  of  the  young  fello\Y  in  the  shabby  coat.  If  they 
dared  to  be  familiar  with  their  host,  there  came  a  scowl  over 
that  noble  countenance  which  was  awful  to  face.  They  drank 
his  corked  wine  in  meekness  of  spirit.  They  laughed  at  his 
jokes  trembling.  One  after  another,  they  were  the  objects  of 
his  satire  ;  and  each  grinned  piteously,  as  he  took  his  turn  of 
punishment.  Some  dinners  are  dear,  though  they  cost  nothing. 
At  some  great  tables  are  not  toads  served  along  with  the  e7i- 
tn'es  1  Yes,  and  many  amateurs  are  exceedingly  fond  of  the 
dish. 

How  do  Parisians  live  at  all  ?  is  a  question  which  has  often 
set  me  wondering.  How  do  men  in  public  offices,  with  fifteen 
thousand  francs,  let  us  say,  for  a  salary — and  this,  for  a  French 
official,  is  a  high  salary — live  in  handsome  apartments ;  give 
genteel  entertainments ;  clothe  themselves  and  their  families 
with  much  more  sumptuous  raiment  than  English  people  of  the 
same  station  can  afford  ;  take  their  country  holiday,  a  six  weeks' 
sojourn,  anx  caux  ;  and  appear  cheerful  and  to  want  for  noth- 
ing ?  Paterfamilias,  with  six  hundred  a  year  in  London,  knows 
what  a  straitened  life  his  is,  with  rent  high,  and  beef  at  a 
shilling  a  pound.  Well,  in  Paris,  rent  is  higher,  and  meat  is 
dearer ;  and  yet  madame  is  richly  dressed  when  you  see  her  ; 
monsieur  has  always  a  little  money  in  his  j^ocket  for  his  club  or 
his  cafe  ;  and  something  is  pretty  surely  put  away  every  year 
for  the  marriage  portion  of  the  young  folks.  "  Sir,"  Philip  used 
to  say,  describing  this  period  of  his  life,  on  which  and  on  most 
subjects  regarding  himself,  by  the  way,  he  was  wont  to  be  very 
eloquent,  "when  my  income  was  raised  to  five  thousand  francs 
a  year,  I  give  you  my  word  I  was  considered  to  be  rich  by  my 
French  acquaintance.  I  gave  four  sous  to  the  waiter  at  our 
dining-place  : — in  that  respect  I  was  always  ostentatious  : — and 
I  believe  they  called  me  Milor.  I  should  have  been  poor  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix:  but  I  was  wealthy  in  the  Luxembourg 
quarter.  Don't  tell  me  about  poverty,  sir  !  Poverty  is  a  bully 
if  you  are  afraid  of  her,  or  truckle  to  her.  Poverty  is  good- 
natured  enough  if  you  meet  her  like  a  man.  You  saw  how  my 
poor  old  father  was  afraid  of  her,  and  thought  the  world  would 
come  to  an  end  if  Dr.  Firmin  did  not  keep  his  butler,  and  his 
footman,  and  his  fine  house,  and  fine  chariot  and  horses  ?  He 
was  a  poor  man,  if  you  please.  He  must  have  suffered  agonies 
in  his  struggle  to  make  both  ends  meet.  Everything  he  bought 
must  have  cost  him  twice  the  honest  price ;  and  when  I  think 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  325 

of  nights  that  must  hav^e  been  passed  without  sleep — of  that 
proud  man  having  to  smirk  and  cringe  before  creditors — to 
coax  butchers,  by  George,  and  wheedle  tailors — I  pity  him  ;  I 
can't  be  angry  any  more.  That  man  has  suffered  enough.  As 
for  me,  haven't  you  remarked  that  since  I  have  not  got  a  guinea 
in  the  world,  I  swagger,  and  am  a  much  greater  swell  than  be- 
fore ? "  And  the  truth  is  that  a  Prince  Royal  could  not  have 
called  for  his  gms  with  a  more  magnificent  air  than  Mr.  Philip 
when  he  sununoned  the  waiter,  and  paid  for  his  petit  vcrfc. 

Talk  of  poverty,  indeed  !  That  period,  Philip  vows,  was 
the  happiest  of  his  life.  He  liked  to  tell  in  after  days  of  the 
choice  acquaintance  of  Bohemians  which  he  had  formed.  Their 
jug,  he  said,  though  it  contained  but  small  beer,  was  always 
full.  Their  tobacco,  though  it  bore  no  higher  rank  than  that 
of  caporal,  was  plentiful  and  fragrant.  He  knew  some  admir- 
able medical  students  ;  some  artists  who  only  wanted  talent 
and  industr)^  to  be  at  the  height  of  their  profession  :  and  one 
or  two  of  the  magnates  of  his  own  calling,  the  newspaper  cor- 
respondents, whose  houses  and  tables  were  open  to  him.  It 
was  wonderful  what  secrets  of  politics  he  learned  and  trans- 
mitted to  his  own  paper.  He  pursued  French  statesmen  of 
those  days  with  prodigious  eloquence  and  vigor.  At  the  ex- 
pense of  that  old  king  he  was  wonderfully  witty  and  sarcastical. 
He  reviewed  the  affairs  of  Europe,  settled  the  destinies  of  Rus- 
sia, denounced  the  Spanish  marriages,  disposed  of  the  Pope,  and 
advocated  the  Liberal  cause  in  France  with  an  untiring  elo- 
quence. "  Absintlie  used  to  be  my  drink,  sir,"  so  he  was  good 
enough  to  tell  his  friends.  "  It  makes  the  ink  run,  and  imparts 
a  fine  eloquence  to  the  style.  Mercy  upon  us,  how  I  would 
belabor  that  poor  King  of  the  French  under  the  influence  of 
absinthe,  in  that  cafe  opposite  the  Bourse  where  I  used  to  make 
My  letter  !  Who  knows,  sir,  perhaps  the  influence  of  those  let- 
ters precipitated  the  fall  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty !  Before  I 
had  an  office,  Gilligan,  of  the  Century,  and  I,  used  to  do  our 
letters  at  that  cafe  ;  we  compared  notes  and  pitched  into  each 
other  amicably." 

Gilligan  of  the  Century,  and  Firmin  of  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette, 
were,  however,  very  minor  personages  amongst  the  London 
newspaper  correspondents.  Their  seniors  of  the  daily  press 
had  handsome  apartments,  gave  sumptuous  dinners,  were 
closeted  with  ministers'  secretaries,  and  entertained  members 
of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.  Philip,  on  perfectly  easy  terms 
with  himself  and  the  world,  swaggering  al)out  the  embassy  balls 
— Philip,  the  friend  and  relative  of  Lord  Ringw^ood — was  viewed 


326  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

by  his  professional  seniors  and  superiors  with  an  eye  of  favor, 
which  was  not  certainly  turned  on  all  gentlemen  following  his 
calling.  Certainly  poor  Gilligan  was  never  asked  to  those 
dinners,  which  some  of  the  newspaper  ambassadors  gave,  where- 
as Philip  was  received  not  inhospitably.  Gilligan  received  but 
a  cold  shoulder  at  Mrs.  Morning  Messenger's  Thursdays ;  and 
as  for  being  asked  to  dinner,  "  Bedad,  that  fellow,  Firniin,  has 
an  air  with  him  which  will  carry  him  through  anywhere  !  "  Phil's 
brother  correspondent  owned.  "  He  seems  to  patronize  an 
ambassador  when  he  goes  up  and  speaks  to  him ;  and  he  says 
to  a  secretary,  '  My  good  fellow,  tell  your  master  that  Mr.  Fir- 
min,  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  wants  to  see  him,  and  will  thank 
him  to  step  over  to  the  Caf^  de  la  Bourse.'  "  I  don't  think 
Philip,  for  his  part,  would  have  seen  much  matter  of  surprise  in 
a  Minister  stepping  over  to  speak  to  him.  To  him  all  folk  were 
alike,  great  and  small  ;  and  it  is  recorded  of  him  that  when,  on 
one  occasion,  Lord  Ringwood  paid  him  a  visit  at  his  lodgings 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  Philip  affably  offered  his  lordship 
a  cornet  of  fried  potatoes,  with  which,  and  plentiful  tobacco  of 
course,  Philip  and  one  or  two  of  his  friends  were  regaling  them- 
selves when  Lord  Ringwood  chanced  to  call  on  his  kinsman. 

A  crust  and  a  carafon  of  small  beer,  a  correspondence  with 
a  weekly  paper,  and  a^remuneration  such  as  that  we  have  men- 
tioned,— was  Philip  Firmin  to  look  for  no  more  than  this  pit- 
tance, aixl  not  to  seek  for  more  permanent  and  lucrative  em- 
ployment ?  Some  of  his  friends  at  home  were  rather  vexed  at 
what  Philip  chose  to  consider  his  good  fortune  ;  namely,  his 
connection  with  the  newspaper,  and  the  small  stipend  it  gave 
him.  He  might  quarrel  with  his  employer  any  day.  Indeed 
no  man  was  more  likely  to  fling  his  bread  and  butter  out  of 
window  than  Mr.  Philip,  He  was  losing  precious  time  at  the 
bar ;  where  he,  as  hundreds  of  other  poor  gentlemen  had  done 
before  him,  might  make  a  career  for  himself.  For  what  are 
colonies  made  .-*  Why  do  bankruptcies  occur  ?  Why  do  peo- 
ple break  the  peace  and  quarrel  with  policemen,  but  that  bar- 
risters may  be  employed  as  judges,  commissioners,  magistrates  ? 
A  reporter  to  a  newspaper  remains  all  his  life  a  newspaper 
reporter.  Philip,  if  he  would  but  help  himself,  had  friends  in 
the  world  w'ho  might  aid  effectually  to  advance  him.  So  it  was 
we  pleaded  with  him,  in  the  language  of  moderation,  urging 
the  dictates  of  common  sense.  As  if  moderation  and  common 
sense  could  be  got  to  move  that  mule  of  a  Philip  Firmin  ;  as  if 
any  persuasion  of  ours  could  induce  him  to  do  anything  but 
what  he  liked  to  do  best  himself ! 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  IVORLD. 


327 


"That  you  should  be  worldly,  my  poor  fellow"  (so  Philip 
wrote  to  his  present  biographer) — "  that  you  should  be  think- 
ing of  money  and  the  main  chance,  is  no  matter  of  surprise  to 
me.  You  have  suffered  under  that  curse  of  manhood,  that 
destroyer  of  generosity  in  the  mind,  that  parent  of  selfishness 
■ — a  little  fortune.  You  have  your  wretched  hundreds  "  (my  can- 
did correspondent  stated  the  sum  correctly  enough  ;  and  I  wish 
it  were  double  or  treble  ;  but  that  is  not  here  the  point :)  "  paid 
quarterly.  The  miserable  pittance  numbs  your  whole  existence. 
It  prevents  freedom  of  thought  and  action.  It  makes  a  screw 
of  a  man  who  is  certainly  not  without  generous  impulses,  as  I 
know,  my  poor  old  Harpagon  ;  for  hast  thou  not  offered  to  open 
thy  purse  to  me  ?  I  tell  you  I  am  sick  of  the  way  in  which  peo- 
ple in  London,  especially  good  people,  think  about  money.  You 
live  up  to  your  income's  edge.  You  are  miserably  poor.  You 
brag  and  flatter  yourselves  that  you  owe  no  man  anything  ;  but 
your  estate  has  creditors  upon  it  as  insatiable  as  any  usurer, 
and  as  hard  as  any  bailiflf.  You  call  me  reckless,  and  prodigal, 
and  idle,  and  all  sorts  of  names,  because  I  live  in  a  single 
room,  do  as  little  work  as  I  can,  and  go  about  with  holes  in  my 
boots :  and  you  flatter  yourself  you  are  prudent,  because  you 
have  a  genteel  house,  a  grave  flunkey  out  of  liver}^,  and  two 
greengrocers  to  wait  when  you  give  your  half-dozen  dreary  din- 
ner-parties. Wretched  man  !  You  are  a  slave  :  not  a  man. 
You  are  a  paujDer,  with  a  good  house  and  good  clothes.  You 
are  so  miserably  prudent,  that  all  your  money  is  spent  for  you, 
except  the  few  wretched  shillings  which  you  allow  yourself  for 
pocket-money.  You  tremble  at  the  expense  of  a  cab.  I  believe 
you  actually  look  at  half-a-crown  before  you  spend  it.  The 
landlord  is  your  master.  The  livery-stablekeeper  is  your  master. 
A  train  of  ruthless,  useless  servants  are  your  pitiless  creditors, 
to  whom  you  have  to  pay  exorbitant  dividends  every  day.  I, 
with  a  hole  in  my  elbow,  who  live  upon  a  shilling  dinner,  and 
walk  on  cracked  boot  soles,  am  called  extravagant,  idle,  reck- 
less, I  don't  know  what ;  while  you,  forsooth,  consider  yourself 
prudent.  Miserable  delusion  !  You  are  flinging  away  heaps 
of  money  on  useless  flunkeys,  on  useless  maid-servants,  on 
useless  lodgings,  on  useless  finery — and  you  say,  '  Poor  Phil ! 
what  a  sad  idler  he  is  !  how  he  flings  himself  away  !  in  what  a 
wretched,  disreputable  manner  he  lives  ! '  Poor  Phil  is  as  rich 
as  you  are,  for  he  has  enougii,  and  is  content.  Poor  Phil  can 
afford  to  be  idle,  and  you  can't.  You  must  work  in  order  to  keep 
that  great  hulking  footman,  that  great  rawboned  cook,  that 
army  of  babbling  nurser}--maids,  and  I  don't  know  what  more- 


328  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PTnLIP 

And  if  you  choose  to  submit  to  the  slavery  and  degradation 
inseparable  from  your  condition  ; — the  wretched  inspection  of 
candle  onds,  which  you  call  order;  —  the  mean  self-denials, 
which  you  must  daily  practice — I  pity  you,  and  don't  quarrel 
with  you.  But  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  insufferably  virtu- 
ous, and  ready  with  your  blame  and  pity  for  me.  If  I  am 
happy,  pray  need  you  be  disquieted  ?  Suppose  I  prefer  inde- 
pendence, and  shabby  boots  ?  Ar"  not  these  better  than  to 
be  pinched  by  our  abominable  varnished  conventionalism,  and 
to  be  denied  the  liberty  of  free  action  ?  My  poor  fellow,  I  pity 
you  from  my  heart  ;  and  it  grieves  me  to  think  how  those 
fine  honest  children — honest,  and  hearty,  and  frank,  and  open 
as  yet — are  to  lose  their  natural  good  qualities,  and  to  be 
swathed,  and  swaddled,  and  stifled  out  of  health  and  honesty 
by  that  obstinate  worldling  their  father.  Don't  tell  me  about 
the  world  ;  I  know  it.  People  sacrifice  the  next  world  to  it, 
and  are  all  the  while  proud  of  their  prudence.  Look  at  my 
miserable  relations,  steeped  in  respectability.  Look  at  my 
father.  There  is  a  chance  for  him,  now  he  is  down  and  in 
poverty.  I  have  had  a  letter  from  him,  containing  more  of 
that  dreadful  worldly  advice  which  you  Pharisees  give.  If  it 
weren't  for  Laura  and  the  children,  sir,  I  heartily  wish  you 
were  ruined  like  your  affectionate — P.  F. 

"  N.B,,  P.  S. — Oh,  pen  !  I  am  so  happy !  She  is  such  a  little 
darling !  I  bathe  in  her  innocence,  sir  !  I  strengthen  myself 
in  her  purity.  I  kneel  before  her  sweet  goodness  and  uncon- 
sciousness of  guile.  I  walk  from  my  room,  and  see  her  every 
morning  before  seven  o'clock.  I  see  her  every  afternoon.  She 
loves  you  and  Laura.  And  you  love  her,  don't  you  ?  And  to 
think  that  six  months  ago  I  was  going  to  marry  a  woman  with- 
out a  heart !  Why,  sir,  blessings  be  on  the  poor  old  father  for 
spending  our  money,  and  rescuing  me  from  that  horrible  fate  ! 
I  might  have  been  like  that  fellow  in  the  '  Arabian  Nights,'  who 
married  Amina — the  respectable  woman,  w-ho  dined  upon  grains 
of  rice,  but  supped  upon  cold  dead  body.  Was  it  not  worth  all 
the  money  I  ever  was  heir  to  to  have  escaped  from  that  ghoul  ? 
Lord  Ringwood  says  he  thinks  I  was  well  out  of  that.  He 
calls  people  by  Anglo-Saxon  names,  and  uses  very  expressive 
monosyllables ;  and  of  Aunt  Twysden,  of  Uncle  Twysden,  of 
the  girls,  and  their  brother,  he  speaks  in  a  way  which  makes 
me  see  he  has  come  to  just  conclusions  about  them. 

"  P.  S.  No.  2. —  Ah,  Pen  !  She  is  such  a  darling.  I  think 
I  am  the  happiest  man  in  the  world." 

And  this  was  what  came  of  being  ruined  !     A  scapegrace, 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  329 

who,  when  he  had  plenty  of  money  in  his  pocket,  was  ill-tem- 
pered, imperious,  and  discontentecl  ;  now  that  he  is  not  worth 
twopence,  declares  himself  the  happiest  fellow  in  the  world ! 
Do  you  remember,  my  dear,  how  he  used  to  grumble  at  our 
claret,  and  what  wry  faces  he  made  when  there  was  only  cold 
meat  for  dinner  ?  The  wretch  is  absolutely  contented  wi:h 
bread  and  cheese  and  small  beer,  even  that  bad  beer  which 
they  have  in  Paris  ! 

Now  and  again,  at  this  time,  and  as  our  mutual  avocations 
permitted,  I  saw  Philip's  friend,  the  Little  Sister,  He  wrote  to 
her  dutifully  from  time  to  time.  He  told  her  of  his  love  affair 
with  Miss  Charlotte  ;  and  my  wife  and  I  could  console  Caroline, 
by  assuring  her  that  this  time  the  young  man's  heart  was  given 
to  a  worthy  mistress.  I  say  console,  for  the  news,  after  all, 
was  sad  for  her.  In  the  little  chamber  which  she  always  kept 
ready  for  him,  he  would  lie  awake,  and  think  of  some  one 
dearer  to  him  than  a  hundred  poor  Carolines.  She  would  de- 
vise something  that  should  be  agreeable  to  the  young  lady. 
At  Christmas  time  there  came  to  Miss  Baynes  a  wonderfully 
worked  cambric  pocket-handkerchief,  with  "  Charlotte  "  most 
beautifully  embroidered  in  the  corner.  It  was  this  poor  widow's 
mite  of  love  and  tenderness  which  she  meekly  laid  down  in  the 
place  where  she  worshipped.  "  And  I  have  six  for  him,  too, 
ma'am,"  Mrs.  Brandon  told  my  wife.  "  Poor  fellow!  his  shirts 
was  in  a  dreadful  way  when  he  went  away  from  here,  and  that 
you  know,  ma'am."  So  you  see  this  wayfarer,  having  fallen 
among  undoubted  thieves,  yet  found  many  kind  souls  to  re- 
lieve him,  and  many  a  good  Samaritan  ready  with  his  twopence, 
if  need  were. 

The  reason  why  Philip  was  the  happiest  man  in  the  world 
of  course  you  understand.  French  people  are  very  early  risers  ; 
and  at  the  little  hotel  where  Mr.  Philip  lived,  the  whole  crew 
of  the  house  were  up  hours  before  lazy  English  masters  and 
servants  think  of  stirring.  At  ever  so  early  an  hour  Phil  had  a 
fine  bowl  of  coffee  and  milk  and  bread  for  his  breakfast ;  and 
he  was  striding  down  to  the  Invalides,  and  across  the  bridge 
to  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  the  fumes  of  his  pipe  preceded 
him  with  a  pleasant  odor.  And  a  short  time  after  passing  the 
Rond  Point  in  the  Elysian  fields,  where  an  active  fountain  was 
flinging  up  showers  of  diamonds  to  the  sk}', — after,  I  say,  leav- 
ing the  Rond  Point  on  his  right,  and  passing  under  umbra 
geous  groves  in  the  direction  of  the  present  Castle  of  Flowers, 
Mr.  Phillip  would  see  a  little  person.  Sometimes  a  young  sis- 
ter or  brother  came  with  the  little  person.     Sometimes  only  a 


S30 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


blush  fluttered  on  her  cheek,  and  a  sweet  smile  beamed  in  her 
face  as  she  came  forward  to  greet  him.  For  the  angels  were 
scarce  purer  than  this  young  maid ;  and  Una  was  no  more 
afraid  of  the  lion,  than  Charlotte  of  her  companion  with  the 
loud  voice  and  the  tawny  mane.  I  would  not  have  envied  that 
reprobate's  lot  who  should  have  dared  to  say  a  doubtful  word 
to  this  Una  :  but  the  truth  is,  she  never  thought  of  danger,  or 
met  with  any.  The  workmen  were  going  to  their  labor  ;  the  dan- 
dies were  asleep  ;  and  considering  their  age,  and  the  relation- 
ship in  which  they  stood  to  one  another,  I  am  not  surprised  at 
Philip  for  announcing  that  this  was  the  happiest  time  of  his 
life.  In  later  days,  when  two  gentlemen  of  mature  age  hap- 
pened to  be  in  Paris  together,  what  must  Mr.  Philip  Firmin 
do  but  insist  upon  walking  me  sentimentally  to  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  looking  at  an  old  house  there,  a  rather  shabby  old 
house  in  a  garden.  "That  was  the  place,"  sighs  he.  "That 
was  Madame  de  Smolensk's.  That  was  the  window,  the  third 
one,  with  the  green  jalousie.  Py  Jove,  sir,  how  happy  and  how 
miserable  I  have  been  behind  that  green  blind  !  "  And  my 
friend  shakes  his  large  fist  at  the  somewhat  dilapidated  man- 
sion, whence  Madame  de  Smolensk  and  her  boarders  have 
long  since  departed. 

I  fear  that  baroness  had  engaged  in  her  enterprise  with  in- 
sufficient capital,  or  conducted  it  with  such  liberality  that  her 
profits  were  eaten  up  by  her  boarders.  I  could  tell  dreadful 
stories  impugning  the  baroness's  moral  character.  People  said 
she  had  no  right  to  the  title  of  baroness  at  all,  or  to  the  noble 
foreign  name  of  Smolensk.  People  are  still  alive  who  knew 
her  under  a  different  name.  The  baroness  herself  was  what 
some  amateurs  call  a  fine  woman,  especially  at  dinner-time, 
when  she  appeared  in  black  satin  and  with  cheeks  that  blushed 
up  as  far  as  the  eyelids.  In  her  peignoir  in  the  morning,  she 
was  perhaps  the  reverse  of  fine.  Contours  which  were  round  at 
night,  in  the  forenoon  appeared  lean  and  angular.  Her  roses 
only  bloomed  half  an  hour  before  dinner-time  on  a  cheek  which 
was  quite  yellow  until  five  o'clock.  I  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of 
elderly  and  ill-complexioned  people  to  supply  the  ravages  of 
time  or  jaundice,  and  present  to  our  view  a  figure  blooming 
and  agreeable,  in  place  of  an  object  faded  and  withered.  Do 
you  quarrel  with  your  opposite  neighbor  for  painting  his  house 
front  or  putting  roses  in  his  balcony  ?  You  are  rather  thank- 
ful for  the  adornment.  Madame  de  Smolensk's  front  was  se 
decorated  of  afternoons.  Geraniums  were  set  pleasantly  under 
those   first-floor   windows,   her   eyes.      Carcel  lamps   beamed 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


Zl"^ 


from  those  windows :  lamps  which  she  had  trimmed  with  he! 
own  scissors,  and  into  whicli  that  poor  widow  poured  tlie  oil 
which  she  got  somehow  and  anyhow.  When  the  dingy  break- 
fast/(/////i^/'^i-  were  cast  of  an  afternoon,  what  beautiful  black 
curls  appeared  round  her  brow!  The  (Wngy papiHotcs were,  put 
away  in  the  drawer :  XSxo.  peignoir  retired  to  its  hook  behind  the 
door :  the  satin  raiment  came  forth,  the  shining,  the  ancient, 
the  well-kept,  the  well-wadded :  and  at  the  same  moment  the 
worthy  woman  took  that  smile  out  of  some  cunning  box  on  her 
scanty  toilet-table — that  smile  which  she  wore  all  the  evening 
along  with  the  rest  of  her  toilette,  and  took  out  of  her  mouth 
when  she  went  to  bed  and  to  think — to  think  how  both  ends 
were  to  be  made  to  meet. 

Philip  said  he  respected  and  admired  that  woman  :  and 
worthy  of  respect  she  was  in  her  way.  She  painted  her  face 
and  grinned  at  poverty.  She  laughed  and  rattled  with  care 
gnawing  at  her  side.  She  had  to  coax  the  milkman  out  of  his 
human  kindness  :  to  pour  oil — his  own  oil — upon  the  stormy 
epicier's  soul  :  to  melt  the  butterman  :  to  tap  the  wine-mer- 
chant :  to  mollify  the  butcher :  to  invent  new  pretexts  for  the 
landlord  :  to  reconcile  the  lady  boarders,  Mrs.  General  Baynes, 
let  us  say,  and  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero,  who  were  always 
quarrelling  :  to  see  that  the  dinner,  when  procured,  was  cooked 
properly ;  that  Francois,  to  whom  she  owed  ever  so  many  months' 
wages,  was  not  too  rebellious  or  intoxicated  ;  that  Auguste,  also 
her  creditor,  had  his  glass  clean  and  his  lamps  in  order.  And 
this  work  done  and  the  hour  of  six  o'clock  arriving,  she  had  to 
carve  and  be  agreeable  to  her  table  ;  not  to  hear  the  growls  of 
the  discontented  (and  at  w^hat  table-d'hote  are  there  not  grum- 
blers ?)  ;  to  have  a  word  for  everybody  present ;  a  smile  and 
a  laugh  for  Mrs.  Bunch  (with  whom  there  had  been  very  likely 
a  dreadful  row  in  the  morning)  ;  a  remark  for  the  Colonel ;  a 
polite  phrase  for  the  General's  lady ;  and  even  a  good  word 
and  compliment  for  sulky  Auguste,  who  just  before  dinner-time 
had  unfolded  the  napkin  of  mutiny  about  his  wages. 

Was  not  this  enough  work  for  a  woman  to  do  ?  To  conduct 
a  great  house  without  sufficient  money,  and  make  soup,  fish, 
roasts,  and  half  a  dozen  entrees  out  of  wind  as  it  were  ?  to  con- 
jure up  wine  in  piece  and  by  the  dozen  ?  to  laugh  and  joke 
without  the  least  gayety  ?  to  receive  scorn,  abuse,  rebuffs,  inso- 
lence, with  gay  good-humor  ?  and  then  to  go  to  bed  wearied 
at  night,  and  have  to  think  about  figures  and  that  dreadful, 
dreadful  sum  in  arithmetic — given  5/.  to  pay  6/.  ?  Lady  Mac- 
beth is  supposed  to  have  been  a  resolute  woman  :  and  great. 


332 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


tall,  loud,  hectoring  females  are  set  to  represent  the  character. 
I  say  No.  She  was  a  weak  woman.  She  began  to  walk  in  hei 
sleep,  and  blab  after  one  disagreeable  little  incident  had  oc- 
curred in  her  house.  She  broke  down,  and  got  all  the  people 
away  from  her  own  table  in  the  most  abrupt  and  clumsy  man- 
ner, because  that  drivelling,  epileptic  husband  of  hers  fancied  he 
saw  a  ghost.  In  Lady  Smolensk's  place  Madame  de  Macbeth 
would  have  broken  down  in  a  week,  and  Smolensk  lasted  for 
years.  If  twenty  gibbering  ghosts  had  come  to  the  boarding- 
house  dinner,  madame  would  have  gone  on  carving  her  dishes, 
and  smiling  and  helping  the  live  guests,  the  paying  guests  ; 
leaving  the  dead  guests  to  gibber  away  and  help  themselves. 
"  My  poor  father  had  to  keep  up  appearances,"  Phil  would  say, 
recounting  these  things  in  after  days  ;  "  but  how  ?  You  know 
he  always  looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  be  hung."  Smolensk 
was  the  gayest  of  the  gay  always.  That  widow  would  have 
tripped  up  to  her  funeral  pile  and  kissed  her  hands  to  her  friends 
with  a  smiling  "  Bon  jour  !  " 

"  Pray,  who  was  Monsieur  de  Smolensk  ? "  asks  a  simple 
lady  who  may  be  listening  to  our  friend's  narrative. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lady  !  there  was  a  pretty  disturbance  in  the 
house  when  that  question  came  to  be  mooted,  I  promise  you,"" 
says  our  friend,  laughing,  as  he  recounts  his  adventures.  And, 
after  all,  what  does  it  matter  to  you  and  me  and  this  story  who 
Smolensk  was  .''  I  am  sure  this  poor  lady  had  hardships  enough 
in  her  life  campaign,  and  that  Ney  himself  could  not  have  faced 
fortune  with  a  constancy  more  heroical. 

Well.  When  the  Bayneses  first  came  to  her  house,  I  tell 
you  Smolensk  and  all  round  her  smiled,  and  our  friends  thought 
they  were  landed  in  a  real  rosy  Elysium  in  the  Champs  of  that 
name.  Madame  had  a  Charrick  d,  V Indiemic  prepared  in  com- 
pliment to  her  guests.  She  had  had  many  Indians  in  her  estab- 
lishment. She  adored  Indians.  N''ctait  ce  la  polygamic — they 
were  most  estimable  people  the  Hindus.  Surtout,  she  adored 
Indian  shawls.  That  of  ]\Iadame  la  Ge'nerale  was  ravishing. 
The  company  at  Madame's  was  pleasant.  The  Honorable  Mrs. 
]]oldero  was  a  dashing  woman  of  fashion  and  respectability, 
who  had  lived  in  the  best  world — it  was  easy  to  see  that.  The 
young  ladies'  duets  were  very  striking.  The  Honorable  Mr. 
Boldero  was  away  shooting  in  Scotland  at  his  brother,  Lord 
Strongitharm's,  and  would  take  Gaberlunzie  Castle  and  the 
duke's  on  his  way  south.  Mrs.  Baynes  did  not  know  Lady 
Estridge,  the  ambassadress  ?  When  the  Estridges  returned 
from   Chantilly,  the   Honoraltle   ]\Trs.  B.  would  be  delighted  to 


MORNING   GREETINGS. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  333 

introduce  her.  "  Your  pretty  girl's  name  is  Charlotte  ?  So  is 
Lady  Estridge's — and  very  nearly  as  tall ; — fine  girls  the 
Estridges  ;  fine  long  necks — large  feet — but  your  girl,  Lady 
Baynes,  has  beautiful  feet.  Lady  Baynes,  I  said  ?  Well,  you 
must  be  Lady  Baynes  soon.  The  General  must  be  a  K.C.B. 
after  his  services.  What,  you  know  Lord  Trim  .?  He  will,  and 
must,  do  it  for  you.  If  not,  my  brother  Strongitharm  shall." 
I  have  no  doubt  Mrs.  Baynes  was  greatly  elated  by  the  atten- 
tions of  Lord  Strongitharm's  sister ;  and  looked  him  out  in  the 
Peerage,  where  his  Lordship's  arms,  pedigree,  and  residence  of 
Gaberlunzie  Castle  are  duly  recorded.  The  Honorable  Mrs. 
Boldero's  daughters,  the  Misses  Minna  and  Brenda  Boldero, 
played  some  rattling  sonatas  on  a  piano  which  was  a  good  deal 
fatigued  by  their  exertions,  for  the  young  ladies'  hands  were 
very  powerful.  And  madanie  said,  "Thank  you,"  with  her 
sweetest  smile  ;  and  Auguste  handed  about  on  a  silver  tray — I 
say  silver,  so  that  the  convenances  may  not  be  wounded — well, 
say  silver  that  was  blushing  to  find  itself  copper — handed  up 
on  a  tray  a  white  drink  which  make  the  Baynes  boys  cry  out, 
"  I  say,  mother,  what's  this  beastly  thing  ?  "  On  which  madame, 
with  the  sweetest  smile,  appealed  to  the  company,  and  said, 
"  They  love  orgeat,  these  dear  infants  !  "  and  resumed  her 
picquet  with  old  M.  Bidois — that  odd  old  gentleman  in  the  long 
brown  coat,  with  the  red  ribbon,  who  took  so  much  snuff  and 
blew  his  nose  so  often  and  so  loudly.  One,  two,  three  rattling 
sonatas  Minna  and  Brenda  played  ;  Mr.  Clanc}',  of  Trinity 
College,  Dublin  (M.  de  Clanci,  madame  called  him),  turning 
over  the  leaves,  and  presently  being  persuaded  to  sing  some 
Irish  melodies  for  the  ladies.  I  don't  think  Miss  Charlotte 
Baynes  listened  to  the  music  much.  She  was  listening  to 
another  music,  which  she  and  Mr.  Firmin  were  performing 
together.  Oh,  how  pleasant  that  music  used  to  be  !  There 
was  a  sameness  in  it,  I  dare  say,  but  still  it  was  pleasant  to  hear 
the  air  over  again.  The  pretty  little  duet  a  quatre  mains,  where 
the  hands  cross  over,  and  hop  up  and  down  the  keys,  and  the 
heads  get  so  close,  so  close.  Oh,  duets,  oh,  regrets  !  Psha  ! 
no  more  of  this.  Go  down  stairs,  old  dotard.  Take  your  hat 
and  umbrella  and  go  walk  by  the  sea-shore,  and  whistle  a 
toothless  old  solo.  "  These  are  our  quiet  nights,"  whispers  M, 
de  Clanci  to  the  Baynes  ladies,  when  the  evening  draws  to  an 
end.  '•  Madame's  Thursdays  are,  I  promise  ye,  much  more 
fully  attended."  Good-night,  good-night.  A  squeeze  of  a  little 
hand,  a  hearty  hand-shake  from  papa  and  mamma,  and  Philip  is 
striding  through  the  dark  Elysian  fields  and  over  the  Place  of 


334 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  nil  LIP 


Concord  to  his  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  Or, 
stay  !  What  is  that  glowworm  beaming  by  the  wall  opposite 
Madame  de  Smolensk's  house? — a  glowworm  that  wafts  an 
aromatic  incense  and  odor  ?  J  do  believe  it  is  Mr.  Philip's 
cigar.  And  he  is  watching,  watching  a  window  by  which  a 
slim  figure  flits  now  and  again.  Then  darkness  falls  on  the 
little  window.  The  sweet  eyes  are  closed.  Oh,  blessings, 
blessings  be  upon  them !  The  stars  shine  overhead.  And 
homeward  stalks  Mr.  Firmin,  talking  to  himself,  and  brandish- 
ing a  great  stick. 

I  wish  that  poor  Madame  Smolensk  could  sleep  as  well  as 
the  people  in  her  house.  But  care,  with  the.  cold  feet,  gets 
under  the  coverlid,  and  says,  "  Here  I  am  ;  you  know  that  bill 
is  coming  due  to-morrow."  Ah,  atra  cura  !  can't  you  leave  the 
jDoor  thing  a  little  quiet  ?  Hasn't  she  had  work  enough  all 
day? 


CHAPTER  XX. 

COURSE   OF   TRUE   LOVE. 


We  beg  the  gracious  reader  to  remember  that  Mr.  Philip's 
business  at  Paris  was  only  with  a  weekly  London  paper  as  yet; 
and  hence  that  he  had  on  his  hands  a  great  deal  of  leisure. 
He  could  glance  over  the  state  of  Europe  ;  give  the  latest 
news  from  the  salons,  imparted  to  him,  I  do  believe,  for  the 
most  part,  by  some  brother  hireling  scribes  ;  be  present  at  all 
the  theatres  by  deputy  :  and  smash  Louis  Philippe  or  Mes- 
sieurs Guizot  and  Thiers  in  a  few  easily  turned  paragraphs, 
which  cost  but  a  very  few  hours'  labor  to  that  bold  and  rapid 
pen.  A  wholesome  though  humiliating  thought  it  must  be  to 
great  and  learned  public  WTiters,  that  their  eloquent  sermons 
are  but  for  the  day ;  and  that,  having  read  what  the  philoso- 
phers say  on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  we  think  about  their  yes- 
terday's sermons  or  essays  no  more.  A  score  of  years  hence, 
men  will  read  the  papers  of  1861  for  the  occurrences  narrated 
— births,  marriages,  bankruptcies,  elections,  murders,  deaths, 
and  so  forth  ;  and  not  for  the  leading  articles.  "  Though 
there  was  some  of  my  letters,"  Mr.  Philip  would  say,  in  after 
times,  "that  I  fondly  fancied  the  world  would  not  willingly  let 


OiV  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


335 


die.  1  wanted  to  have  them  or  see  them  reprinted  in  a  vol- 
ume, but  I  could  find  no  publisher  willing  to  undertake  the 
risk.  A  fond  being,  who  fancies  there  is  genius  in  ev.ery- 
thing  I  say  or  write,  would  have  had  me  reprint  my  letters  to 
the  Fall  Mall  Gazette ;  but  I  was  too  timid,  or  she,  perhaps, 
was  too  confident.  The  letters  never  were  republislied.  Let 
them  pass."  They  have  passed.  And  he  sighs,  in  mentioning 
this  circumstance  ;  and  I  think  tries  to  persuade  himself,  rjfther 
than  others,  that  he  is    an  unrecognized  genius. 

"  And  then,  you  know,"  he  pleads,  "  I  was  in  love,  sir,  and 
spending  all  my  days  at  Omphale's  knees.  I  didn't  do  jus- 
tice to  my  powers.  If  I  had  had  a  daily  paper,  I  still  think  I 
might  have  made  a  good  public  writer  ;  and  that  I  had  the 
stuff  in  me — the  stuff  in  me,  sir !  " 

The  truth  is  that,  if  he  had  had  a  daily  paper,  and  ten 
times  as  much  work  as  fell  to  his  lot,  Mr.  Philip  would  have 
found  means  of  pursuing  his  inclination,  as  he  ever  through 
life  has  done.  The  being  whom  a  young  man  wishes  to  see,  he 
sees.  What  business  is  superior  to  that  of  seeing  her  ?  'Tis  a 
little  Hellespontine  matter  keeps  Leander  from  his  Hero  ?  He 
would  die  rather  than  not  see  her.  Had  he  swum  out  of  that 
difficulty  on  that  stormy  night,  and  carried  on  a  few  months 
later,  it  might  have  been,  "  Beloved  !  my  cold  and  rheumatism 
are  so  severe  that  the  doctor  says  I  must  not  think  of  cold 
bathing  at  night ; "  or,  "  Dearest  1  we  have  a  party  at  tea, 
and  you  mustn't  expect  your  ever  fond  Lambda  to-night,"  and 
so  forth,  and  so  forth.  But  in  the  heat  of  his  passion  water 
could  not  stay  him  ;  tempests  could  not  frighten  him  ;  and  in 
one  of  them  he  went  down,  while  poor  Hero's  lamp  was  twink- 
ling and  spending  its  best  flame  in  vain.  So  Philip  came  from 
Sestos  to  Abydos  daily — across  one  of  the  bridges,  and  paying 
a  halfpenny  toll  very  likely — and,  late  or  early,  poor  little 
Charlotte's  virgin  lamps  were  lighted  in  her  eyes,  and  watching 
for  him. 

Philip  made  many  sacrifices,  mind  you  :  sacrifices  which 
all  men  are  not  in  the  habit  of  making.  When  Lord  Ring- 
wood  was  in  Paris,  twice,  thrice  he  refused  to  dine  with  his 
lordship,  until  that  nobleman  smelt  a  rat,  as  the  saying  is — and 
said,  "  Well,  youngster,  I  suppose  you  are  going  where  there  is 
metal  more  attractive.  When  you  come  to  twelve  lustres,  my 
boy,  you'll  find  vanity  and  vexation  in  that  sort  of  thing,  and  a 
good  dinner  better,  and  cheaper,  too,  than  the  best  of  them." 
And  when  some  of  Philip's  rich  college  friends  met  him  in  his 
exile,  and  asked  him  to  the  "  Rocher "'  or  the  "  Trois  Freres," 


55(^ 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHI  LI  F 


he  would  break  away  from  those  banquets  ;  and  as  fur  meeting 
at  those  feasts  doubtful  companions,  whom  young  men  will 
sometimes  invite  to  their  entertainments,  Philip  turned  from 
such  with  scorn  and  anger.  His  virtue  was  loud,  and  he  pro- 
claimed it  loudly.  He  expected  little  Charlotte  to  give  him 
credit  for  it,  and  told  her  of  his  self-denial.  And  she  believed 
anything  he  said  ;  and  delighted  in  everything  he  wrote ;  and 
copied  out  his  articles  for  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette ;  and  treas- 
ured his  poems  in  her  desk  of  desks  :  and  there  never  was  in 
all  Sestos,  in  all  Abydos,  in  all  Europe,  in  all  Asia  Minor  or 
Asia  Major,  such  a  noble  creature  as  Leander,  Hero  thought ; 
never,  never  !  I  hope,  young  ladies,  you  may  all  have  a  Lean- 
der on  his  way  to  the  tower  where  the  light  of  your  love  is 
burning  steadfastly.  I  hope,  young  gentlemen,  you  have  each 
of  you  a  beacon  in  sight,  and  may  meet  with  no  mishap  in 
swimming  to  it. 

From  my  previous  remarks  regarding  Mrs.  Baynes,  the 
reader  has  been  made  aware  that  the  General's  wife  was  no 
more  faultless  than  the  rest  of  her  fellow-creatures  ;  and  having 
already  candidly  informed  the  public  that  the  writer  and  his 
family  were  no  fa\orites  of  this  lady,  I  have  now  the  pleasing 
duty  of  recording  my  own  opinions  regarding  her.  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral B.  was  an  early  riser.  She  was  a  frugal  woman ;  fond  of 
her  young,  or,  let  us  say,  anxious  to  provide  for  their  mainten- 
ance ;  and  here,  with  my  best  compliments,  I  think  the  catalogue 
of  her  good  qualities  is  ended.  She  had  a  bad,  violent  tem- 
per;  a  disagreeable  person,  attired  in  very  bad  taste  \  a  shriek- 
ing voice ;  and  two  manners,  the  respectful  and  the  patroniz- 
ing, which  were  both  alike  odious.  When  she  ordered  Baynes 
to  marry  her,  gracious  powers  !  why  did  he  not  run  away  ? 
Who  dared  first  to  say  that  marriages  are  made  in  heaven  ? 
We  know  that  there  are  not  only  blunders,  but  roguery  in  the 
marriage  office.  Do  not  mistakes  occur  every  day,  and  are  not 
the  wrong  people  coupled  ?  Had  heaven  anything  to  do  with 
the  bargain  by  which  young  Miss  Blushrose  was  sold  to  old 
Mr.  Hoarfrost  ?  Did  heaven  order  Miss  Tripper  to  throw  over 
poor  Tom  Spooner,  and  marry  the  wealthy  Mr.  Bung?  You  may 
as  well  say  that  horses  are  sold  in  heaven,  as  you  know,  are 
groomed,  are  doctored,  are  chanted  on  to  the  market,  and  war- 
ranted by  dexterous  horse-vendors  as  possessing  every  quality 
of  blood,  pace,  temper,  age.  Against  these  Mr.  Greenhorn 
has  his  remedy  sometimes  ;  but  against  a  mother  who  sells  you 
a  warranted  daughter,  what  remedy  is  there  ?  You  have  been 
jockeyed  by  false  representations  into  bidding  for  the  Cecilia, 


OIV  HIS  IVA  y  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


337 


and  the  animal  is  yours  for  life.  She  shies,  kicks,  stumbles, 
has  an  infernal  temper,  is  a  crib-biter — and  she  was  warranted 
to  you  by  her  mother  as  the  most  perfect,  good-tempered  crea- 
ture, whom  the  most  timid  might  manage  !  You  have  bought 
her.  She  is  yours.  Heaven  bless  you  !  Take  her  home,  and 
be  miserable  for  the  rest  of  your  days.  You  have  no  redress. 
You  have  done  the  deed.  Marriages  were  made  in  heaven, 
you  know  ;  and  in  yours  you  were  as  much  sold  as  Moses 
Primrose  was  when  he  bought  the  gross  of  green  spectacles. 

I  don't  think  poor  General  Baynes  ever  had  a  proper  sense 
of  his  situation,  or  knew  how  miserable  he  ought  by  rights  to 
have  been.  He  was  not  uncheerful  at  times  :  a  silent  man, 
liking  his  rubber  and  his  glass  of  wine  ;  a  very  weak  person  in 
the  common  affairs  of  life,  as  his  best  friends  must  own ;  but, 
as  I  have  heard,  a  very  tiger  in  action.  "  I  know  your  opinion 
of  the  General,"  Philip  used  to  say  to  me,  in  his  grandiloquent 
way.  "You  despise  men  who  don't  bully  their  wives  ;  you  do, 
sir !  You  think  the  General  weak,  I  know,  I  know.  Other 
brave  men  were  so  about  women,  as  I  dare  say  you  have  heard. 
This  man,  so  weak  at  home,  was  mighty  on  the  war-path  ;  and 
in  his  wigwam  are  the  scalps  of  countless  warriors." 

"  In  his  wig  zahat  ?  "  s^y  I.  The  truth  is,  on  his  meek 
head  the  General  wore  a  little  curling  chestnut  top-knot,  which 
looked  very  queer  and  out  of  place  over  that  wrinkled  and 
war-worn  face. 

"  If  you  choose  to  laugh  at  your  joke,  pray  do,"  says  Phil, 
majestically.  "  I  make  a  noble  image  of  a  warrior.  You 
prefer  a  barber's  pole.  Bo?i.  /  Pass  me  the  wine.  The  vet- 
eran whom  I  hope  to  salute  as  father  ere  long — the  soldier  of 
twenty  battles  ; — who  saw  my  own  brave  grandfather  die  at  his 
side — die  at  Busaco,  by  George  ;  you_  laugh  at  on  account  of 
his  wig.  It's  a  capital  joke."  And  here  Phil  scowled  and 
slapped  the  table,  and  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  as 
though  the  death  of  his  grandfather,  which  occurred  long  be- 
fore Philip  was  born,  caused  him  a  very  serious  pang  of  grief. 
Philip's  newspaper  business  brought  him  to  London  on  occa- 
sions. I  think  it  was  on  one  of  these  visits  that  we  had  our 
talk  about  General  Baynes.  And  it  was  at  the  same  time 
Philip  described  the  boarding-house  to  us,  and  its  inmates,  and 
the  landlady,  and  the  doings  there. 

For  that  struggling  landlady,  as  for  all  women  in  distress, 
our  friend  had  a  great  sympathy  and  liking ;  and  she  returned 
Philip's  kindness  by  being  very  good  to  Mademoiselle  Char- 
lotte, and  very  forbearing  witli  the  General's  wife  and  hisothei 


338 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILIP 


children.  The  appetites  of  those  little  ones  were  frightful,  the 
temper  of  Madame  la  Generale  was  almost  intolerable,  but 
Charlotte  was  an  angel,  and  the  General  was  a  mutton — a  true 
mutton.  Her  own  father  had  been  so.  The  brave  are  often 
muttons  at  home.  I  suspect  that,  though  Madame  could  have 
made  but  little  profit  by  the  General's  family,  his  monthly  pay- 
ments were  \crj  welcome  to  her  meagre  little  exchequer. 
"  Ah  !  if  all  my  locataires  were  like  him  !  "  sighed  the  poor 
lady.  "That  Madame  P.oldero,  whom  the  Generaless  treats 
always  as  Honorable,  I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  her  !  And  others 
again  !  " 

I  never  kept  a  boarding-house,  but  I  am  sure  there  must  be 
many  painful  duties  attendant  on  that  profession.  What  can 
you  do  if  a  lady  or  gentleman  doesn't  pay  his  bill  ?  Turn  him 
or  her  out?  Perhaps  the  very  thing  that  lady  or  gentleman 
would  desire.  They  go.  Those  trunks  which  you  have  insanely 
detained,  and  about  which  you  have  made  a  fight  and  a  scandal, 
do  not  contain  a  hundred  francs'  worth  of  goods,  and  your  debt- 
ors never  come  back  again.  You  do  not  like  to  have  a  row  in 
a  boarding-house  any  more  than  you  would  like  to  have  a  party 
with  scarlet  fever  in  your  best  bedroom.  The  scarlet-fever 
party  stays,  and  the  other  boarders  go  away.  What,  you  ask, 
do  I  mean  by  this  mystery  ?  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  give  up 
names,  and  titled  names.  I  am  sorry  to  say  the  Honorable 
Mrs.  Boldero  did  not  pay  her  bills.  She  was  waiting  for  remit- 
tances, which  the  1  lonorable  Boldero  was  dreadfully  remiss  in 
sending.  A  dreadful  man  !  He  was  still  at  his  Lordship's  at 
Gaberlunzie  Castle,  shooting  the  wild  deer  and  hunting  the  roe. 
And  though  the  Honorable  Mrs.  B.'s  heart  was  in  the  High- 
lands, of  course  how  could  she  join  her  Highland  chief  without 
the  money  to  pay  Madame  ?  The  Highlands,  indeed  !  One 
dull  day  it  came  out  that  the  Honorable  Boldero  was  amusing 
himself  in  the  Highlands  of  Hesse  Honiburg  ;  and  engaged  in 
the  dangerous  sport  which  is  to  be  had  in  the  green  plains 
about  Loch  Badenbadenoch  ! 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  depravity  ?  The  woman  is  a 
desperate  and  unprincipled  adventuress  !  I  wonder  Madame 
dares  to  put  me  and  my  children  and  my  General  down  at  table 
with  such  people  as  those,  Philip  !  "  cries  Madame  la  Gdnerale. 
"  I  mean  those  opposite — that  woman  and  her  two  daughters 
who  haven't  paid  madame  a  shilling  for  three  months — who 
owes  me  five  hundred  francs,  which  she  borrowed  until  next 
Tuesday,  expecting  a  remittance — a  pretty  remittance  indeed — 
from  Lord  Strongitharm.    Lord  Strongitharm,  I  dare  say  !    And 


OA'  ins  IVA  Y  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


339 


she  pretends  to  be  most  intimate  at  the  embassy ;  and  that  she 
would  introduce  us  there,  and  at  the  Tuileries  :  and  she  told 
me  Lady  Garterton  had  the  small-pox  in  the  house  ;  and  when 
I  said  all  ours  had  been  vaccinated,  and  I  didn't  mind,  she 
fobbed  me  off  with  some  other  excuse  ;  and  it's  my  belief  that 
the  woman's  a  humbug.  Overhear  me  !  I  don't  care  if  she 
does  overhear  me.  No.  You  may  look  as  much  as  you  like,  my 
Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  ;  and  I  don't  care  if  you  do  overhear 
me.  Ogoost !  Pomdytare  pour  le  Generale  !  How  tough 
madame's  boof  is,  and  it's  boof,  boof,  boof  every  day,  till  I'm 
sick  of  boof.  Ogoost !  why  don't  you  attend  to  my  children  ?  " 
And  so  forth. 

By  this  report  of  the  worthy  woman's  conversation,  you  will 
see  that  the  friendship  which  had  sprung  up  between  tlie  two 
ladies  had  come  to  an  end,  in  consequence  of  painful  pecuniary 
disputes  between  them ;  that  to  keep  a  boarding-house  can't  be 
a  very  pleasant  occupation  ;  and  that  even  to  dine  in  a  board- 
ing-house must  be  only  bad  fun  when  the  company  is  frightened 
and  dull,  and  when  there  are  two  old  women  at  table  ready  to 
fling  the  dishes  at  each  other's  fronts.  At  the  period  of  which 
I  now  write,  I  j^romise  you,  there  was  very  little  of  the  piano- 
duet  business  going  on  after  dinner.  In  the  first  place,  every- 
body knew  the  girls'  pieces  ;  and  when  they  began,  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  would  lift  up  a  voice  louder  than  the  jingling  old  instru- 
ment, thumped  Minna  and  Brenda  ever  so  loudly.  "  Perfect 
strangers  to  me,  Mr.  Clancy,  I  assure  you.  Had  I  known  her, 
you  don't  suppose  I  would  have  lent  her  the  money.  Honorable 
Mrs.  Boldero,  indeed  !  Five  weeks  she  has  owed  me  five 
hundred  frongs.  Bong  swor,  Monseiur  Bidois  !  Sang  song 
frong  pas  payy  encor  !  Prommy  pas  payy !  "  Fancy,  I  say, 
what  a  dreary  life  that  must  have  been  at  the  select  boarding- 
house,  where  these  two  parties  were  doing  battle  daily  after 
dinner  !  Fancy,  at  the  select  sorie'es,  the  General's  lady  seizing 
upon  one  guest  after  another,  and  calling  out  her  wrongs,  and 
pointing  to  the  wrong-doer ;  and  poor  Madame  Smolensk, 
smirking  and  smiling,  and  flying  from  one  end  of  the  salon  to 
the  other,  and  thanking  M.  Pivoine  for  his  charming  romance, 
and  ]\L  Brumm  for  his  admirable  performance  on  the  violon- 
cello, and  even  asking  those  poor  Miss  Bolderos  to  perform 
their  duet — for  her  heart  melted  towards  them.  Not  ignorant 
of  evil,  she  had  learned  to  succor  the  miserable.  She  knew 
what  poverty  was,  and  had  to  coax  scowling  duns,  and  wheedle 
vulgar  creditors.  "  Tenez,  Monsieur  Philippe,"  she  said,  "the 
Ge'nerale  is  too  cruel.      There  arc  others  here  who  might  com- 


340 


THE  ADVEXTUKES  OF  PHILIP 


plain,  niul  are  silent."  Philip  felt  all  this  ;  the  conduct  of  his 
future  mother-in-law  lilled  him  with  dismay  and  horror.  And 
sometime  after  these  remarkable  circumstances,  he  told  me, 
blushing  as  he  spoke,  a  humiliating  secret.  "  Do  you  know, 
sir,"  says  he,  "that  that  autumn  I  made  a  pretty  good  thing  out 
of  it  with  one  thing  or  another.  I  did  my  work  for  the  Pall 
Alall  Gazette  :  and  Smith  of  the  Daily  IntcUigciiccr,  w^anting  a 
mouth's  holiday,  gave  me  his  letter  and  ten  francs  a  day.  And 
at  that  ^'ery  time  I  met  Redman,  who  had  owed  me  twenty 
pounds  ever  since  we  were  at  college,  and  who  was  just  coming 
back  flush  from  Homburg,  and  paid  me.  Well,  now.  Swear 
you  won't  tell.  Swear  on  your  faith  as  a  Christian  man !  With 
this  money  I  went,  sir,  privily  to  Mrs.  Boldero.  I  said  if  she 
would  pay  the  dragon — I  mean  Mrs.  Baynes — I  would  lend  her 
the  money.  And  I  did  lend  her  the  money,  and  the  Boldero 
never  paid  back  Mrs.  Baynes.  Don't  mention  it.  Promise  me 
you  won't  tell  Mrs.  Baynes.  I  never  expected  to  get  Redman's 
money,  you  know,  and  am  no  worse  off  than  before.  One  day 
of  the  Grandes  Eaux  we  went  to  Versailles,  I  think,  and  the 
Honorable  ]\Irs.  Boldero  gave  us  the  slip.  She  left  the  poor 
girls  behind  her  in  pledge,  who,  to  do  them  justice,  cried  and 
were  in  a  dreadful  way  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Baynes,  on  her  return, 
began  shrieking  about  her  '  sang  song  frong,'  Madame  Smolensk 
fairly  lost  patience  for  once,  and  said,  '  Mais,  Madame,  vous 
nous  faiiguez,  avec  vos  cinq  cent  francs;'  on  which  the  other 
muttered  something  about  'Ansolong,'  but  was  briskly  taken 
up  by  her  husband,  who  said,  *  By  George,  Eliza,  madame  is 
quite  right.  And  I  wish  the  five  hundred  francs  were  in  the 
sea.'  " 

Thus,  you  understand,  if  Mrs.  General  Baynes  thought  some 
people  were  "stuck-up  people,"  some  people  can — and  hereby 
do  by  these  presents — pay  off  Mrs.  Baynes,  by  furnishing  the 
public  with  a  candid  opinion  of  that  lady's  morals,  manners, 
and  character.  How  could  such  a  shrewd  woman  be  dazzled 
so  repeatedly  by  ranks  and  titles  ?  There  used  to  dine  at 
Madame  Smolensk's  boarding-house  a  certain  German  baron, 
with  a  large  finger  ring,  upon  a  dingy  finger,  towards  whom  the 
lady  was  pleased  to  cast  the  eye  of  favor,  and  who  chose  to  fall 
in  love  with  her  pretty  daughter  ;  young  Mr.  Clancy,  the  Irish 
poet,  was  also  smitten  with  the  charms  of  the  fair  young  lady  ; 
and  this  intrepid  mother  encouraged  both  suitors,  to  the  un- 
speakable agonies  of  IMiilip  Firmin,  who  felt  often  that  whilst 
he  was  away  at  his  work  these  inmates  of  Madame  Smolensk's 
house  were  near  his  charmer — at  her  side  at  lunch,  ever  hand- 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


341 


fng  her  the  cup  at  breakfast,  on  tlie  watch  for  her  when  she 
walked  forth  in  the  garden  ;  and  1  take  the  pangs  of  jealousy 
to  have  formed  a  part  of  those  unspeakable  sufferings  which 
Philip  said  he  endured  in  the  house  whither  he  came  courting. 

Little  Charlotte,  in  one  or  two  of  her  letters  to  her  friends 
in  Queen  Square,  London,  meekly  complained  of  Philip's  ten- 
dency to  jealousy.  "  Does  he  think,  after  knowing  him,  I  can 
think  of  these  horrid  men  ? "  she  asked.  "  I  don't  understand 
what  Mr.  Clancy  is  talking  about,  when  he  comes  to  me  with 
his  '  pomes  and  potry  ; '  and  who  can  read  poetry  like  Philip 
himself?  Then  the  German  baron — who  does  not  call  e\en 
himself  baron  :  it  is  mamma  who  will  insist  upon  calling  him  so 
— has  such  very  dirty  things,  and  smells  so  of  cigars,  that  I  don't 
like  to  come  near  him.  Philip  smokes  too,  but  his  cigars  are 
quite  pleasant.  Ah,  dear  friend,  how  (ould  he  ever  think  such 
men  as  these  were  to  be  put  in  comparaison  with  him  !  And 
he  scolds  so  ;  and  scowls  at  the  poor  men  in  the  evening  when 
he  comes  !  and  his  temper  is  so  high  !  Do  say  a  word  to  him 
— quite  cautiously  and  gently,  you  know — in  behalf  of  your 
fondly  attached  and  most  happy — only  he  v;ill  make  me  un- 
happy sometimes  ;  but  you'll  prevent  him,  won't  you  ? — Char- 
lotte B." 

I  could  fancy  Philip  hectoring  through  the. part  of  Othello, 
and  his  poor  young  Desdemona  not  a  little  frightened  at  his 
black  humors.  Such  sentiments  as  Mr.  Philip  felt  strongly,  he 
expressed  with  an  uproar.  Charlotte's  correspondent,  as  usual, 
made  light  of  these  little  domestic  confidences  and  grievances. 
"  Women  don't  dislike  a  jealous  scolding,"  she  said.  "  It  may 
be  rather  tiresome,  but  it  is  always  a  compliment.  Some  hus- 
bands think  so  well  of  themselves,  that  they  can't  condescend 
to  be  jealous."  "  Yes,"  I  say,  "  women  prefer  to  have  tyrants 
over  them.  A  scolding  you  think  is  a  mark  of  attention. 
Hadn't  you  better  adopt  the  Russian  system  at  once,  and  go 
out  and  buy  me  a  whip,  and  present  it  to  me  with  a  curtse)', 
and  your  compliments  ;  and  a  meek  pra3-erthat  I  should  use  it." 
"  Present  you  a  whip  !  present  you  a  goose  !  "  says  the  lady, 
who  encourages  scolding  in  other  husbands,  it  seems,  but  won't 
suffer  a  word  from  her  own. 

Both  disputants  had  set  their  sentimental  hearts  on  the  mar- 
riage of  this  young  man  and  this  young  woman.  Little  Char- 
lotte's heart  was  so  bent  on  the  match,  that  it  would  break,  we 
fancied,  if  she  were  disappointed  ;  and  in  her  mother's  beha- 
vior we  felt,  from  the  knowledge  we  had  of  the  woman's  dispo- 
sition, there  was  a  serious  cause  for  alarm.     Should  a  better 


342 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


offer  present  itself,  Mrs.  Baynes,  we  feared,  would  fling  over 
poor  Pliilip  :  or  it  was  in  reason  and  nature,  tliat  he  would  come 
to  a  quarrel  with  her,  and  in  the  course  of  the  pitched  battle 
which  must  ensue  between  them,  he  would  fire  off  expressions 
mortally  injurious.  Are  there  not  many  peojole,  in  every  one's 
acquaintance,  who  as  soon  as  they  have  made  a  bargain,  repent 
of  it  ?  Philip,  as  "  preserver  "  of  General  Baynes,  in  the  first 
fervor  of  family  gratitude  for  that  act  of  self-sacrifice  on  the 
young  man's  part,  was  very  well.  But  gratitude  wears  out ;  or 
suppose  a  woman  says,  "  It  is  my  duty  to  my  child  to  recall  my 
word  ;  and  not  allow  her  to  fling  herself  away  on  a  beggar." 
Suppose  that  you  and  I,  strongly  incline  to  do  a  mean  action, 
get  a  good,  available,  and  moral  motive  for  it  ?  I  trembled  for 
poor  Philip's  course  of  true  love,  and  little  Charlotte's  chances, 
when  these  surmises  crossed  my  mind.  There  was  a  hope  still 
in  the  honor  and  gratitude  of  General  Baynes.  He  would  not 
desert  his  young  friend  and  benefactor.  Now  General  Baynes 
was  a  brave  man  of  war,  and  so  was  John  of  Marlborough  a 
brave  man  of  war ;  but  it  is  certain  that  both  were  afraid  of 
their  wives. 

We  have  said  by  whose  invitation  and  encouragement  Gen- 
eral Baynes  was  induced  to  bring  his  family  to  the  boarding- 
house  at  Paris;,  the  instigation,  namely,  of  his  friend  and  com- 
panion in  arms,  the  gallant  Colonel  Bunch.  When  the  Baynes 
family  arrived,  the  Bunches  were  on  the  steps  of  madame's 
house,  waving  a  welcome  to  the  new-comers.  It  was,  "  Here 
we  are,  Bunch,  my  boy."  "  Glad  to  see  you,  Baynes.  Right 
well  you're  looking,  and  so's  Mrs.  B."  And  the  General  replies, 
"And  so  are  you,  Bunch  ;  and  so  do  jv«,  Mrs.  B."  "  How  do, 
boys  ?  How  d'you  do,  Miss  Charlotte  ?  Come  to  show  the 
Paris  fellows  what  a  pretty  girl  is,  hey  ?  Blooming  like  a  rose, 
Baynes  !  "  "  I'm  telling  the  General,"  cries  the  Colonel  to  the 
General's  lady,  "  the  girl's  the  very  image  of  her  mother."  In 
this  case  poor  Charlotte  must  have  looked  like  a  yellow  rose, 
for  Mrs.  Baynes  was  of  a  bilious  temperament  and  complexion, 
whereas  Miss  Charlotte  was  as  fresh  pink  and  white  as — what 
shall  we  say  ? — as  the  very  freshest  strawberries  mingled  with 
the  very  nicest  cream. 

The  two  old  soldiers  were  of  very  great  comfort  to  one 
another.  They  toddled  down  to.  Galignani's  together  daily, 
and  read  the  papers  there.  They  went  and  looked  at  the 
reviews  in  the  Carrousel,  and  once  or  twice  to  the  Champ  de 
Mars  : — recognizing  here  and  there  .the  numbers  of  the  Regi 
ments  against  which  they  had  been  engaged  in  the  famous  an- 


OiV  Ills  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


343 


Cient  wars.  They  did  not  brag  in  the  least  about  their  achieve- 
ments, they  winked  and  understood  each  other.  They  got  tlieir 
old  uniforms  out  of  their  old  bo.\es,  and  took  ^voitiirc  de  ra?iise, 
by  Jove  !  and  went  to  be  presented  to  Louis  Philippe.  They 
bought  a  catalogue,  and  went  to  the  Louvre,  and  wagged  their 
honest  old  heads  before  the  pictures ;  and,  I  dare  say,  winked 
and  nudged  each  other's  brave  old  sides  at  some  of  the  nymphs 
in  the  statue  gallery.  They  went  out  to  Versailles  with  their 
families ;  loyally  stood  treat  to  the  ladies  at  the  restaurateur's. 
(Bunch  had  taken  down  a  memorandum  in  his  pocket-book 
from  Benyon,  who  had  been  the  duke's  aide-de-camp  in  the 
last  campaign,  to  "  go  to  Beauvillier's,"  only  Beauvillier's  had 
been  shut  up  for  twenty  years.)  They  took  their  families  and 
Charlotte  to  the  Theatre  Frangais,  to  a  tragedy  ;  and  they  had 
books :  and  they  said  it  was  the  most  confounded  nonsense 
they  ever  saw  in  their  lives  ;  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  Bunch, 
in  the  back  of  the  box,  snored  so,  that,  though  in  retirement, 
he  created  quite  a  sensation.  "  Corneal,"  he  owns,  was  too 
much  for  him  :  give  him  Shakespeare  :  give  him  John  Kemble  : 
give  him  Mrs.  Siddons  :  give  him  Mrs.  Jordan.  But  as  for  this 
sort  of  thing  .^  "  I  think  our  play  days  are  over,  Baynes, — 
hey  ?  "  And  I  also  believe  that  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  whose 
knowledge  of  the  language  was  imperfect  as  yet,  was  very  much 
bewildered  during  the  tragedy,  and  could  give  but  an  imperfect 
account  of  it.  But  then  Philip  Firmin  was  in  the  orchestra 
stalls  ;  and  had  he  not  sent  three  bouquets  for  the  three  ladies, 
regretting  that  he  could  not  come  to  see  somebody  in  the  Champs 
Elyse'es,  because  it  was  his  post  day,  and  he  must  write  his 
letter  for  the  Fali  Mall  Gazette?  There  he  was,  her  Cid  ;  her 
peerless  champion  :  and  to  give  up  father  and  mother  for  him  ? 
our  little  Chimene  thought  such  a  sacrifice  not  too  difficult. 
After  that  dismal  attempt  at  the  theatre,  the  experiment  was 
not  repeated.  The  old  gentlemen  preferred  their  whist  to  those 
pompous  Alexandrines  sung  through  the  nose,  which  Colonel 
Bunch,  a  facetious  little  Colonel,  used  to  imitate,  and,  I  am 
given  to  understand,  very  badly. 

The  good  gentlemen's  ordinary  amusement  was  a  game  at 
cards  after  dinner  ;  and  they  compared  Madame's  to  an  East 
Indian  ship,  quarrels  and  all.  Sarah  went  on  just  in  that  way 
on  board  the  "  Burrumpooter."  Always  rows  about  prece- 
dence, and  the  services,  and  the  deuce  knows  what.  Women 
always  will.  Sarah  Bunch  went  on  in  that  way :  and  Eliza 
Baynes  also  went  on  in  that  way  ;  but  I  should  think,  from  the 
most  trustworthy  information,  that  Eliza  was  worse  than  Sarah. 


344 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


"  About  any  person  with  a  title,  that  woman  will  make  a 
fool  of  herself  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,"  remarked  Sarah  of 
her  friend.  "  You  remember  how  she  used  to  go  on  at  ]3ar- 
rackpore  about  that  little  shrimp.  Stony  Battersby,  because  he 
was  an  Irish  viscount's  son  ?  See  how  sJie  flings  herself  at  the 
head  of  this  Mrs.  Boldero, — with  her  airs,  and  her  paint,  and 
her  black  front !  I  can't  bear  the  woman  !  I  know  she  has 
not  paid  madame.  I  know  she  is  no  better  than  she  should 
be — and  to  see  Eliza  Baynes  coaxing  her,  and  sidling  up  to 
her,  and  flattering  her; — it's  too  bad,  that  it  is!  A  woman 
who  OW2S  ever  so  much  to  madame  !  a  woman  who  doesn't  pay 
her  washerwoman  ! " 

"  Just  like  the  '  Burrumpooter  '  over  again,  my  dear,"  cries 
Colonel  Bunch.  "  You  and  Eliza  Baynes  were  always  quarrel- 
ling, that's  the  fact.  Why  did  you  ask  her  to  come  here  ?  I 
knew  you  would  begin  again,  as  soon  as  you  met."  And  the 
truth  was  that  these  ladies  were  always  fighting  and  making  up 
again. 

"  So  you  and  Mrs.  Bunch  were  old  acquaintances  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Boldero  of  her  new  friend.  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Baynes  !  1 
should  hardly  have  thought  it :  your  manners  are  so  different^ 
Your  friend,  if  I  may  be  so  free  as  to  speak,  has  the  camp 
manner.  You  have  not  the  camp  manner  at  all.  I  should 
have  thought  you — excuse  me  the  phrase,  but  I'm  so  open,  and 
always  speak  my  mind  out — you  haven't  the  camp  manner  at 
all.     You  seem  as  if  you  were  one  of  us.     Minna  !  doesn't  Mrs. 

Baynes  put  you  in  mind  of  Lady  Hm ?  "     (The   name   is 

inaudible,  in  consequence  of  Mrs.  Boldero's  exceeding  shyness 
in  mentioning  names — but  the  girls  see  the  likeness  to  dear 

Lady  Hm at  once.)     "  And  when  you  bring  your  dear  girl 

to  London  you'll  know  the  lady  I  mean,  and  judge  for  your 
self.  I  assure  you  I  am  not  disparaging  you,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Baynes,  in  comparing  you  to  her  !  " 

And   so  the  conversation  goes  on.     If  Mrs.  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  at  Tours  chose  to  betray  secrets,  she  could  give  ex- 
tracts from  her  sister's  letters  to  show  how  profound  was  the 
impression  created  in  Mrs.  General  Baynes's  mind  by  the  pro 
fessions  and  conversations  of  the  Scotch  lady. 

"  Didn't  the  General  shoot  and  love  deer-stalking  ?  The 
dear  General  must  come  to  Gaberlunzie  Castle,  where  she 
would  promise  him  a  Highland  welcome.  Her  brother 
Strongitharm  was  the  most  amiable  of  men  ;  adored  her  and 
her  girls  :  there  was  talk  even  of  marrying  Minna  to  the  Cap- 
tain, but  she,  for  her  part,  could  not  endure  the  marriage  of 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD  345 

first-cousins.  There  was  a  tradition  against  such  marriages  in 
their  family.  Of  three  Bolderos  and  Strongitharms  who  mar- 
ried their  first-cousins,  one  was  drowned  in  Gaberlunzie  lake 
three  weeks  after  the  marriage  ;  one  lost  his  wife  by  a  gallop- 
ing consumption,  and  died  a  monk  at  Rome  ;  and  the  third 
married  a  fortnight  before  the  battle  of  Culloden,  where  he  was 
slain  at  the  head  of  the  Strongitharms.  Mrs,  Baynes  had  no 
idea  of  the  splendor  of  Gaberlunzie  Castle  ;  seventy  bedrooms 
and  thirteen  company-rooms,  besides  the  picture-gallery  !  In 
Edinburgh,  the  Strongitharm  had  the  right  to  wear  his  bonnet 
in  the  presence  of  his  sovereign."  "  A  bonnet !  how  very  odd, 
my  dear !  But  with  ostrich  plumes,  I  dare  say  it  may  look 
well,  especially  as  the  Highlanders  wear  frocks,  too."  "  Lord 
Strongitharm  had  no  house  in  London,  having  almost  ruined 
himself  in  building  his  princely  castle  in  the  North.  Mrs. 
Baynes  must  come  there  and  meet  their  noble  relatives  and  all 
the  Scottish  nobility."  "  Nor  do  /  care  about  these  vanities, 
my  dear,  but  to  bring  my  sweet  Charlotte  into  the  world  :  is  it 
not  a  mother's  duty  ?  " 

Nor  only  to  her  sister,  but  likewise  to  Charlotte's  friends  of 
Queen  Square,  did  Mrs.  Baynes  impart  this  delightful  news. 
But  this  is  in  the  first  ardor  of  the  friendship  which  arises 
between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Boldero,  and  before  those 
unpleasant  money  disputes  of  which  we  have  spoken. 

Afterwards,  when  the  two  ladies  have  quarrelled  regarding 
the  memorable  "  sang  song  frong,"  I  think  Mrs.  Bunch  came 
round  to  Mrs.  Boldero's  side.  "  Eliza  Baynes  is  too  hard  on 
her.  It  is  too  cruel  to  insult  her  before  those  two  unhappy 
daughters.  The  woman  is  an  odious  woman,  and  a  vulgar 
woman,  and  a  schemer,  and  I  always  said  so.  But  to  box  her 
ears  before  her  daughters — her  honorable  friend  of  last  week  I 
it's  a  shame  of  Eliza  !  " 

"  My  dear,  you'd  better  tell  her  so  !  "  says  Bunch,  drily. 
"But  if  you  do,  tell  her  when  I'm  out  of  the  way,  please!" 
And  accordingly,  one  day  when  the  two  old  officers  return  from 
their  stroll,  Mrs.  Bunch  informs  the  Colonel  that  she  has  had 
it  out  with  Eliza  ;  and  Mrs.  Baynes,  with  a  heated  face,  tells  the 
General  that  she  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch  have  quarrelled  ;  and 
she  is  determined  it  shall  be  for  the  last  time.  So  that  poor 
Madame  de  Smolensk  has  to  interpose  between  Mrs.  Baynes 
and  Mrs.  Boldero  ;  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Bunch , 
and  to  sit  surrounded  by  glaring  eyes,  and  hissing  inuendoes, 
and  in  the  midst  of  feuds  unhealable.  Of  course,  from  the 
women  the  quarrelling  will  spread  to  the  gentlemen.     That 


346  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

always  happens.  Poor  madame  trembles.  Again  Bunch  gives 
his  neighbor  his  word  that  it  is  like  the  "  Ikirrumpooter  '*  East 
Indiaman — the  "  Burruinpooter  "  in  very  bad  weather,  too. 

"  At  any  rate,  zoc  won't  be  lugged  into  it,  Baynes,  my  boy !  " 
says  the  Colonel,  who  is  of  a  sanguine  temperament,  to  his 
friend. 

"  Hey,  hey  !  don't  be  too  sure,  Bunch  ;  don't  be  too  sure," 
sighs  the  other  veteran,  who,  it  may  be,  is  of  a  more  despond- 
ing turn,  as,  after  a  battle  at  luncheon,  in  which  the  Amazons 
were  fiercely  engaged,  the  two  old  warriors  take  their  walk  to 
Galignani's. 

Towards  his  Charlotte's  relatives  poor  Philip  was  respectful 
by  duty  and  a  sense  of  interest,  perhaps.  Before  marriage, 
especially,  men  are  very  kind  to  the  relatives  of  the  beloved 
object.  They  pay  compliments  to  mamma  ;  they  listen  to  papa's 
old  stories,  and  laugh  appositely  ;  they  bring  presents  for  the 
innocent  young  ones,  and  let  the  little  brothers  kick  their  shins. 
Philip  endured  the  juvenile  Bayneses  very  kindly ;  he  took  the 
boys  to  Franconi's,  and  made  his  conversation  as  suitable  as  he 
could  to  the  old  people.  He  was  fond  of  the  old  General,  a 
simple  and  worthy  old  man  j  and  had,  as  we  have  said,  a  hearty 
sympathy  and  respect  for  Madame  Smolensk,  admiring  her 
constancy  and  good-humor  under  her  many  trials.  But  those 
who  have  pursued  his  memoirs  are  aware  that  Mr.  Firmin  could 
make  himself,  on  occasions,  not  a  little  disagreeable.  When 
sprawhng  on  a  sofa,  engaged  in  conversation  with  his  charmer, 
he  w^ould  not  budge  when  other  ladies  entered  the  room.  He 
scowled  at  them,  if  he  did  not  like  them.  He  was  not  at  the 
least  trouble  to  conceal  his  likes  or  dislikes.  He  had  a  manner 
of  fixing  his  glass  in  his  eye,  putting  his  thumbs  into  the  arm- 
holes  of  his  waistcoat,  and  talking  and  laughing  very  loudly  at 
his  own  jokes  or  conceits,  which  was  not  pleasant  or  respectful 
to  ladies. 

"  Your  loud  young  friend,  with  the  cracked  boots,  is  very 
mauvais  tofi,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,"  Mrs.  Boldero  remarked  to 
her  new  friend,  in  the  first  ardor  of  their  friendship.  "  A  rela- 
ative  of  Lord  Ringwood's,  is  he  ?  Lord  Ringwood  is  a  very 
queer  person.  A  son  of  that  dreadful  Dr.  Firmin,  who  ran 
away  after  cheating  ever\-body .''  Poor  young  man  !  He  can't 
help  having  such  a  father,  as  you  say,  and  most  good,  and  kind, 
and  generous  of  you  to  say  so.  And  the  General  and  the 
Honorable  Philip  Ringwood  were  early  companions  together, 
I  dare  say.  But  having  such  an  unfortunate  father  as  Dr. 
Firmin,  I   think   Mr.  Firmin  mijrht  be  a  little  less  prononce; 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


347 


don't  you  ?  And  to  see  Iiim  in  cracked  boots,  sprawling  over 
the  sofas,  and  hear  him,  when  my  loves  are  playing  their  duets, 
laughing  and  talking  so  very  loud, — •!  confess  isn't  pleasant  to 
me.  1  am  not  used  to  that  kind  of  inonde,  nor  are  my  dear 
loves.  You  are  under  great  obligations  to  him,  and  he  has 
behaved  nobl}',  you  say  t  Of  course.  To  get  into  your  society 
an  unfortunate  young  man  will  be  on  his  best  behavior,  though 
he  certainly  does  not  condescend  to  be  civil  to  us.  But 
*  *  *  *  What !  that  young  man  engaged  to  that  lovely,  inno- 
cent, charming  child,  your  daughter  ?  My  dear  creature,  you 
frighten  me  !  A  man,  with  such  a  father ;  and,  excuse  me, 
with  such  a  manner ;  and  without  a  penny  in  the  world,  en- 
gaged to  Miss  Baynes !  Goodness,  powers  !  It  must  never 
be.  It  shall  not  be,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes.  Why,  I  have 
written  to  my  nephew  Lenox  to  come  over,  Strongitharm's 
favorite  son  and  my  favorite  nephew.  I  have  told  him  that 
there  is  a  sweet  young  creature  here,  whom  he  must  and  ought 
to  see.  How  well  that  dear  child  would  look  presiding  at 
Strongitharm  Castle  ?  And  you  are  going  to  give  her  to  that 
dreadful  young  man  with  the  loud  voice  and  cracked  boots — 
that  smoky  young  man — oh,  impossible  !  " 

Madame  had,  no  doubt,  given  a  very  favorable  report  of  her 
new  lodgers  to  the  other  inmates  of  her  house  ;  and  she  and 
Mrs.  Boldero  had  concluded  that  all  general  officers  returning 
from  India  were  immensely  rich.  To  think  that  her  daughter 
might  be  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Strongitharm,  Baroness  Strong- 
itharm, and  walk  in  a  coronation  in  robes,  with  a  coronet  in 
her  hand  !  Mrs.  Baynes  yielded  in  loyalty  to  no  woman,  but  I 
fear  her  wicked  desires  .compassed  a  speedy  royal  demise,  as 
this  thought  passed  through  her  mind  of  the  Honorable  Lenox 
Strongitharm.  She  looked  him  out  in  the  Peerage,  and  found 
that  young  nobleman  designated  as  the  Captain  of  Strongith- 
arm. Charlotte  might  be  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Captain  of 
Strongitharm  !  When  poor  Phil  stalked  in  after  dinner  that 
evening  in  his  shabby  boots  and  smoky  paletot,  Mrs.  Baynes 
gave  him  but  a  grim  welcome.  He  went  and  prattled  uncon- 
sciously by  the  side  of  his  little  Charlotte,  whose  tender  eyes 
dwelt  upon  his,  and  whose  fair  cheeks  flung  out  their  blushes  of 
welcome.  He  prattled  away.  He  laughed  out  loud  whilst 
Minna  and  Brenda  were  thumping  their  duet.  "Taisez-vous 
done.  Monsieur  Philippe,"  cries  madame,  putting  her  finger  to 
her  lip.  The  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  looked  at  dear  Mrs. 
Baynes,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Poor  Philip  !  would  he 
have  laughed  so  loudly  (and  so  rudely,  too,  as  I  own),  had  he 


34^  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

known  what  was  passing  in  tlie  minds  of  those  women  ?  Treason 
was  passing  there  :  and  before  that  glance  of  knowing  scorn, 
shot  froni  the  Honorable  Mrs.  ]]oldero's  eyes,  dear  Mrs.  Gen- 
eral Baynes  faltered.  How  very  curt  and  dry  she  was  with 
Philip  !  how  testy  with  Charlotte  !  Poor  Philip,  knowing  that 
his  charmer  was  in  the  power  of  her  mother,  was  pretty  humble 
to  this  dragon  ;  and  attempted,  by  uncouth  flatteries,  to  soothe 
and  propitiate  her.  She  had  a  queer,  dry  humor,  and  loved  a 
joke;  but  Phil's  fell  very  flat  this  night.  Mrs.  Baynes  received 
his  pleasantries  with  an  "  Oh,  indeed  !  She  was  sure  she  heard 
one  of  the  children  crying  in  their  nursery.  Do,  pray,  go  and 
see,  Charlotte,  what  that  child  is  crying  about."  And  away 
goes  poor  Charlotte,  having  but  dim  presentiment  of  misfortune 
as  yet.  Was  not  mamma  often  in  an  ill  humor ;  and  were  they 
not  all  used  to  her  scoldings  ? 

As  for  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that,  up  to 
this  time,  Philip  was  not  only  no  favorite  with  her,  but  was 
heartily  disliked  by  that  lady.  I  have  told  you  our  friend's 
faults.  He  was  loud  :  he  was  abrupt :  he  was  rude  often  :  and 
often  gave  just  cause  of  annoyance  by  his  laughter,  his  disre- 
spect, and  his  swaggering  manner.  To  those  whom  he  liked  he 
was  as  gentle  as  a  woman  ;  and  treated  them  with  an  extreme 
tenderness  and  touching  rough^  respect.  But  those  persons 
about  whom  he  was  indifferent,  he  never  took  the  least  trouble 
to  conciliate  or  please.  If  they  told  long  stories,  for  example, 
he  would  turn  on  his  heel,  or  interrupt  them  by  observations  of 
his  own  on  some  quite  different  subject.  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch, 
then,  positively  disliked  that  young  man,  and  I  think  had  very 
good  reasons  for  her  dislike.  As  f(jr  Bunch,  Bunch  said  to 
Baynes,  "  Cool  hand,  that  young  fellow  !  "  and  winked.  And 
Baynes  said  to  Bunch,  "  Queer  chap.  Fine  fellow,  as  I  have 
reason  to  know  pretty  well.  I  play  a  club.  No  club  ?  I  mark 
honcr.5  and  two  tricks."  And  the  game  went  on.  Clancy  hated 
Philip  :  a  meek  man  whom  yet  Firmin  had  managed  to  offend. 
"  That  man,"  the  poet  Clancy  remarked,  "  has  a  manner  of 
treading  on  me  corrans  which  is  intolerable  to  me  !  " 

The  truth  is,  Philip  was  always  putting  his  foot  on  some 
other  foot,  and  trampling  it.  And  as  for  the  Boldero  clan,  Mr. 
Firmin  treated  them  with  the  most  amusing  insolence,  and 
ignored  them  as  if  they  were  out  of  existence  altogether.  So 
you  see  the  poor  fellow  had  not  with  his  poverty  learned  the 
least  lesson  of  humility,  or  acquired  the  very  earliest  rudiments 
of  the  art  of  making  friends.  I  think  his  best  friend  in  the 
house  was  its  mistress,  Madame  Smolensk.     Mr.  Philip  treated 


ON  ins  IVAV  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  349 

her  as  an  equal :  which  mark  of  affability  he  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  bestowing  on  all  persons.  Some  great  people,  some 
rich  people,  some  would-be-fine  people,  he  would  patronize  with 
an  insufferable  audacity.  Rank  or  wealth  do  not  seem  some- 
how to  influence  this  man,  as  they  do  common  mortals.  He 
would  tap  a  bishop  on  the  waistcoat,  and  contradict  a  duke  at 
their  first  meeting,  I  have  seen  him  walk  out  of  church  during 
a  stupid  sermon,  with  an  audible  remark  perhaps  to  that  effect, 
and  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should  go.  If  the 
company  bored  him  at  dinner,  he  would  go  to  sleep  in  the  most 
unaffected  manner.  At  home  we  were  always  kept  in  a  pleasant 
state  of  anxiety,  not  only  by  what  he  did  and  said,  but  by  the 
idea  of  what  he  might  do  or  say  next.  He  did  not  go  to  sleep 
at  madame's  boarding-house,  preferring  to  keep  his  eyes  open 
to  look  at  pretty  Charlotte's.  And  were  there  ever  such 
sapphires  as  his  ?  she  thought.  And  hers  ?  Ah  !  if  they  have 
tears  to  shed,  I  hope  a  kind  fate  will  dry  them  quickly ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

TREATS    OF    DANCING,    DINING,    DYING. 

Old  schoolboys  remember  how,  when  pious  ^neas  was 
compelled  by  painful  circumstances  to  quit  his  country,  he  and 
his  select  band  of  Trojans  founded  a  new  Troy,  where  they 
landed  ;  raising  temples  to  the  Trojan  gods ;  building  streets 
with  Trojan  names  ;  and  endeavoring,  to  the  utmost  of  their 
power,  to  recall  their  beloved  native  place.  In  like  manner, 
British  Trojans  and  French  Trojans  take  their  Troy  everywhere. 
Algiers  I  have  only  seen  from  the  sea  ;  but  New  Orleans  and 
Leicester  Square  I  have  visited  ;  and  have  seen  a  quaint  old 
France  still  lingering  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi ;  a  dingy 
modern  France  round  that  great  Globe  of  Mr.  Wyld's,  which  they 
say  is  coming  to  an  end.  There  are  French  cafe's,  billiards 
estaminets,  waiters,  markers,  poor  Frenchmen,  and  rich  French 
men,  in  a  new  Paris — shabby  and  dirty,  it  is  true — but  offering  the 
emigrant  the  dominos,  the  chopine,  the  petit-verre  of  the  patrie. 
And  do  not  British  Trojans,  who  emigrate  to  the  continent  of 
Europe,  take  their  Troy  with  them  ?  You  all  know  the  quarters 
of  Paris  which  swarm  with  us  Trojans.  From  Peace  Street  to 
the  Arch  of  the  Star  are  collected  thousands  of  refugees  from 
our  Ilium.     Under  the  arcades  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  you  meet, 


35° 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


at  certain  liours,  as  many  of  our  Trojans  as  of  the  natives.  In 
the  Trojan  inns  of  "  Maurice,"  the  "  Louvre,"  &c.,  we  swanu. 
We  have  numerous  Anglo-Trojan  doctors  and  apotliecarics, 
who  give  us  the  dear  pills  and  doses  of  Pergamus.  We  go  to 
Mrs.  Guerre  or  kind  Mrs.  Colombin,  and  can  purchase  the 
sandwiches  of  Troy,  the  pale  ale  and  sherry  of  Troy,  and  the 
dear,  dear  niufiins  of  home.  We  live  for  years,  never  speaking 
any  language  but  our  native  Trojan  ;  except  to  our  servants, 
whom  we  instruct  in  the  Trojan  way  of  preparing  toast  for 
breakfast ;  Trojan  bread-sauce  for  fowls  and  patridges ;  Tro- 
jan corned  beef,  &:c.  \^^e  ha\e  temples  where  we  worship 
according  to  the  Trojan  rites.  A  kindly  sight  is  that  which 
one  beholds  of  a  Sunday  in  the  Elysian  fields  and  the  St. 
Honore  quarter,  of  processions  of  English  grown  people  and 
children,  stalwart,  red-cheeked,  marching  to  their  churches, 
their  gilded  j^rayer-books  in  hand,  to  sing  in  a  stranger's  land 
the  sacred  songs  of  their  Zion.  I  am  sure  there  are  many  Eng- 
lish in  Paris  who  never  speak  to  any  native  above  the  rank  of 
a  waiter  or  shopman.  Not  long  since  I  was  listening  to  a 
Frenchman  at  Folkestone,  speaking  English  to  the  waiters  and 
acting  as  interpreter  for  his  party.  He  spoke  pretty  well  and 
very  quickly.  He  was  irresistibly  comical.  I  wonder  how  we 
maintained  our  gravity.  And  you  and  I,  my  dear  friend,  when 
7ve  speak  French,  I  dare  say  we  are  just  as  absurd.  As  absurd  ! 
And  why  not  ?  Don't  you  be  discouraged,  young  fellow.  Cour- 
age, moji  jeune  avii !  Remember,  Trojans  ha\-e  a  conquering 
way  with  them.  When  /Eneas  landed  at  Carthage,  I  dare  say 
he  spoke  Carthaginian  with  a  ridiculous  Trojan  accent ;  but, 
for  all  that,  poor  Dido  fell  desperately  in  love  with  him.  Take 
example  by  the  son  of  Anchises,  my  boy.  Never  mind  the 
grammar  or  the  pronunciation,  but  tackle  the  lady,  and  speak 
your  mind  to  her  as  best  you  can. 

This  is  the  plan  which  the  Vicom*e  de  Loisy  used  to  adopt. 
He  was  following  ^course  oi  English  accordmg  to  the  celebrated 
victJiode  yohson.  The  cours  assembled  twice  a  week  :  and  the 
Vicomte,  with  laudable  assiduity,  went  to  all  English  parties  to 
which  he  could  gain  an  introduction,  for  the  jiurpose  of  acquir- 
ing the  English  language,  and  marrying  tine  Anglaise.  This 
industrious  young  man  even  went  au  Temple  on  Sundays  for  the 
purpose  of  familiarizing  himself  with  the  English  language  ;  and 
as  he  sat  under  Doctor  Murrogh  Macmanus  of  T.  C.  D.,  a  very 
eloquent  preacher  at  Paris  in  those  days,  the  Vicomte  acquired 
a  very  fine  pronunciation.  Attached  to  the  cause  of  unfortunate 
monarchy  all  over  the  world,  the  Vicomte  had  fought  in  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  351 

Spanish-Carlist  armies.  He  waltzed  well  :  and  madame  thought 
his  cross  looked  nice  at  her  parties.  Will  it  be  believed  that 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  took  this  gentleman  into  special  favor; 
talked  with  him  at  soiree  after  soiree  ;  never  laughed  at  his  Eng- 
lish ;  encouraged  her  girl  to  waltz  with  him  (which  he  did  to 
perfection,  whereas  poor  Philip  was  but  a  hulking  and  clumsy 
performer)  ;  and  showed  him  the  very  greatest  favor,  until  one 
day,  on  going  into  Mr.  Bonus's,  the  house-agent  (who  lets  lodg- 
ings, and  sells  British  pickles,  tea,  sherry,  and  the  like),  she 
found  the  Vicomte  occupying  a  stool  as  clerk  in  Mr.  Bonus's 
establishment,  where  for  twehe  hundred  francs  a  year  he  gave 
his  invaluable  services  during  the  day!  Mrs.  Baynes  took  poor 
madame  severely  to  task  for  admitting  such  a  man  to  her  assem- 
blies. Madame  was  astonished.  Monsieur  was  a  gentleman 
of  ancient  family  who  had  met  with  misfortunes.  He  was  earn- 
ing his  maintenance.  To  sit  in  a  bureau  was  not  a  dishonor. 
Knowing  that  boutique  meant  shop  and  garcon  meant  boy,  Mrs. 
Baynes  made  use  use  of  the  words  boutique  garcon  the  next  time 
she  saw  the  Vicomte.  The  little  man  wept  tears  of  rage  and 
mortification.  There  was  a  very  painful  scene,  at  which,  thank 
mercy,  poor  Charlotte  thought,  Philip  was  not  present.  Were 
it  not  for  the  General's  cheveux  blancs  (by  which  phrase  the 
Vicomte  very  kindly  designated  General  Baynes's  chestnut  top- 
knot), the  Vicomte  would  have  had  reason  from  him.  "  Charm- 
ing miss,"  he  said  to  Charlotte,  "your  respectable  papa  is  safe 
from  my  sword !  Madame  your  mamma  has  addressed  me 
words  which  I  qualify  not.  But  you — you  are  too  'andsome,  too 
good,  to  despise  a  poor  soldier,  a  poor  gentleman  !  "  I  have 
heard  the  Vicomte  still  dances  at  boarding-houses  and  is  still  in 
pursuit  of  an  Anglaise.  He  must  be  a  wooer  now  almost  as 
elderly  as  the  good  General  whose  scalp  he  respected. 

Mrs.  Baynes  was,  to  be  sure,  a  heavy  weight  to  bear  for 
poor  madame,  but  her  lean  shoulders  were  accustomed  to  many 
a  burden ;  and  if  the  General's  wife  was  quarrelsome  and 
odious,  he,  as  madame  said,  was  as  soft  as  a  mutton  ;  and 
Charlotte's  pretty  face  and  manners  were  the  admiration  of  all. 
The  yellow  Miss  Bolderos,  those  hapless  elderly  orphans  left  in 
pawn,  might  bite  their  lips  with  envy,  but  they  never  could 
make  them  as  red  as  Miss  Charlotte's  smiling  mouth.  To  the 
honor  of  Madame  Smolensk  be  it  said  that,  never  by  word  or 
hint,  did  she  cause  those  unhappy  young  ladies  any  needless 
pain.  She  never  stinted  them  of  any  meal.  No  full-priced 
pensioner  of  madame's  could  have  breakfast,  luncheon,  dinners 
served  more  regularly.     T!ie  day  after   their  mother's   flight, 


352  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PIHLIP 

that  good  Madame  Smolensk  took  early  cups  of  tea  to  the  girls' 
rooms,  with  her  own  hands  ;  and  I  believe  helped  to  do  the 
hair  of  one  of  them,  and  otherwise  to  sooth  them  in  their  mis- 
fortune. They  could  not  keep  their  secret.  It  must  be  owned 
that  Mrs.  Baynes  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  deploring  their 
situation  and  acquainting  all  new-comers  with  their  mother's 
flight  and  transgression.  But  she  was  good-natured  to  the  cap- 
tives in  her  grim  way  :  and  admired  madame's  forbearance 
regarding  them.  The  two  old  officers  were  now  especially 
polite  to  the  poor  things :  and  the  General  rapped  one  of  his 
boys  over  the  knuckles  for  saying  to  Miss  Brenda,  "  If  your 
uncle  is  a  lord,  why  doesn't  he  give  you  any  money  1  "  "  And 
these  girls  used  to  hold  their  heads  above  mine,  and  their 
mother  used  to  give  herself  such  airs  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Baynes. 
"  And  Eliza  Baynes  used  to  flatter  those  poor  girls  and  their 
mother,  and  fancy  they  were  going  to  make  a  woman  of  fashion 
of  her !  "  said  Mrs.  Bunch.  "  We  all  have  our  weaknesses. 
Lords  are  not  yours,  my  dear.  Faith,  I  don't  think  you  know 
one,"  says  stout  little  Colonel  Bunch.  "I  wouldn't  pay  a 
duchess  such  court  as  Eliza  paid  that  woman  !  "  cried  Sarah  ; 
and  she  made  sarcastic  inquiries  of  the  General,  whether  Eliza 
had  heard  from  her  friend  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  ?  But 
for  all  this  Mrs.  Bunch  pitied  the  young  ladies,  and  I  believe 
gave  them  a  little  supply  of  coin  from  her  private  purse.  A 
word  as  to  their  private  history.  Their  mamma  became  the 
terror  of  boarding-house  keepers  :  and  the  poor  girls  practised 
their  duets  all  over  Europe.  Mrs.  Boldero's  noble  nephew,  the 
present  Strongitharm  (as  a  friend  who  knows  the  fashionable 
world  informs  me)  was  victimized  by  his  own  uncle,  and  a  most 
painful  affair  occurred  between  them  at  a  game  at  "  blind 
hookey."  The  Honorable  Mrs.  Boldero  is  ii\ing  in  the  pre- 
cincts of  Holyrood  ;  one  of  her  daughters  is  happily  married  to 
a  minister ;  and  tlie  other  to  an  apothecary  wlio  was  called  in 
to  attend  her  in  quinsy.  So  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  phrase 
about  "  select  "  boarding-houses  is  a  mere  complimentary  term  ; 
and  as  for  the  strictest  references  being  given  and  required,  I 
certainly  should  not  lay  out  extra  money  for  printing  that  ex- 
pression in  my  advertisement,  were  I  going  to  set  up  an  estab- 
lishment myself. 

Old  college  friends  of  Philip's  visited  Paris  from  lime  to 
time;  and  rejoiced  in  carrying  him  off  to  "  Borel's  "  or  the 
"  Trois  Frbres,"  and  hospitably  treating  him  who  had  been  so 
hospitable  in  liis  time.  Vcs,  thanks  be  to  heaven,  there  are 
good  Samaritans  in  pretty  large  numbers  in  this  world,  and 


ON-  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


353 


hands  ready  enough  to  succor  a  man  in  misfortune.  I  could 
name  two  of  three  gentlemen  who  drive  about  in  chariots  and 
look  at  iDcople's  tongues  and  write  queer  figures  and  queer 
Latin  on  note-paper,  who  occultly  made  a  purse  containing  some 
seven  or  ten  score  fees,  and  sent  them  out  to  Dr.  Firmin  in  his 
banishment.  The  poor  wretch  had  behaved  as  ill  as  might  be, 
but  he  was  without  a  penny  or  a  friend.  I  dare  say  Dr.  Good- 
enough,  amongst  other  philanthropists,  put  his  hands  into  his 
pocket.  Having  heartily  disliked  and  mistrusted  Firmin  in 
prosperity,  in  adversity  he  melted  towards  the  poor  fugitive 
wretch  :  he  even  could  believe  that  Firmin  had  some  skill  in 
his  profession,  and  in  his  practice  was  not  quite  a  quack. 

Philip's  old  college  and  school  cronies  laughed  at  hearing 
that,  now  his  ruin  was  complete,  he  was  thinking  about  mar- 
riage. Such  a  plan  was  of  a  piece  with  Mr.  Firmin's  known 
prudence  and  foresight.  But  they  made  an  objection  to  his 
proposed  union,  which  had  struck  us  at  home  previously.  Papa- 
in-law  was  well  enough,  or  at  least  inoffensive  :  but  ah,  ye 
powers  !  what  a  mother-in-law  was  poor  Phil  laying  up  for  his 
future  days  !  Two  or  three  of  our  mutual  companions  made 
this  remark  on  returning  to  work  and  chambers  after  their 
autumn  holiday.  We  never  had  too  much  charity  for  Mrs. 
Baynes  ;  and  what  Philip  told  us  about  her  did  not  serve  to  in- 
crease our  regard. 

About  Christmas  Mr.  Firmin's  own  affairs  brought  him  on  a 
brief  visit  to  London.  We  were  not  jealous  that  he  took  up 
quarters  with  his  little  friend,  of  Thornhaugh  Street,  who  was 
contented  that  he  should  dine  with  us,  provided  she  could  have 
the  pleasure  of  housing  him  under  her  kind  shelter.  High  and 
mighty  people  as  we  were — for  under  what  humble  roofs  does 
not  Vanity  hold  her  sway  ? — we,  who  knew  Mrs.  Brandon's  vir- 
tues, and  were  aware  of  her  early  story,  would  have  conde- 
scended to  receive  her  into  our  society  ;  but  it  was  the  little  lady 
herself  who  had  her  pride,  and  held  aloof.  "  My  parents  did 
not  give  me  the  education  )'ou  have  had,  ma'am,"  Caroline  said 
to  my  wife.  "  My  place  is  not  here,  I  know  very  well  :  unless 
you  should  be  took  ill,  and  tJum,  ma'am,  3^ou'll  see  that  I  will 
be  glad  enough  to  come.  Philip  can  come  and  see  inc ;  and  a 
blessing  it  is  to  me  to  set  eyes  on  him.  But  I  shouldn't  be 
happy  in  your  drawing-room,  nor  you  in  having  me.  The  dear 
children  look  surprised  at  my  way  of  talking ;  and  no  wonder : 
and  they  laugh  sometimes  to  one  another,  God  bless  'em  !  I 
don't  mind.  My  education  was  not  cared  for.  I  scarce  had 
uny  schooling  but  what  I  taught  myself.     My  Pa  hadn't  the 

23 


354 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  FIIILIP 


means  of  learning  me  much  :  and  it  is  too  late  to  go  to  school 
at  forty  odd,  I've  got  all  his  stockings  and  things  darned  ; 
and  his  linen,  poor  fellow ! — beautiful  :  I  wish  they  kep'  it  as 
nice  in  France,  where  he  is !  You'll  give  my  love  to  the  young 
lady,  won't  you,  ma'am  ?  and  oh  !  it's  a  blessing  to  me  to  hear 
how  good  and  gentle  she  is  !  He  has  a  high  temper,  Philip 
have  :  but  them  he  likes  can  easy  manage  him.  You  have  been 
his  best  kind  friends  ;  and  so  will  she  be,  I  trust ;  and  they 
may  be  happy  though  they're  poor.  But  they've  time  to  get 
rich,  haven't  they  ?  And  it's  not  the  richest  that's  the  happiest, 
that  I  can  see  in  many  a  fine  house  where  Nurse  Brandon  goes 
and  has  her  eyes  open,  though  she  don't  say  much,  you  know." 
In  this  way  Nurse  Brandon  would  prattle  on  to  us  when  she 
came  to  see  us.  She  would  share  our  meal,  always  thanking 
by  name  the  servant  who  helped  her.  She  insisted  on  call- 
ing our  children  "  Miss "  and  "  Master,"  and  I  think  those 
young  satirists  did  not  laugh  often  or  unkindly  at  her  peculiari- 
ties. I  know  they  were  told  that  Nurse  Brandon  was  very 
good  ;  and  that  she  took  care  of  her  father  in  his  old  age  ;  and 
that  she  had  passed  through  very  great  griefs  and  trials  ;  and 
that  she  had  nursed  Uncle  Philip  when  he  had  been  very  ill 
indeed,  and  when  many  people  would  have  been  afraid  to  come 
near  him  ;  and  that  her  life  was  spent  in  tending  the  sick,  and 
in  doing  good  to  her  neighbor. 

One  day  during  Philip's  stay  with  us  we  happen  to  read  in 
the  paper  Lord  Ringwood's  arrival  in  London.  Aly  lord  had  a 
grand  town-house  of  his  own  which  he  did  not  always  inhabit. 
He  liked  the  cheerfulness  of  a  hotel  better.  Ringwood  House 
was  too  large  and  too  dismal.  He  did  not  care  to  eat  a  solitary 
mutton-chop  in  a  great  dining-room  surrounded  by  ghostly 
images  of  dead  Ringwoods — his  dead  son,  a  boy  who  had  died 
in  his  boyhood  ;  his  dead  brother  attired  in  the  uniform  of  his 
day  (in  which  picture  there  was  no  little  resemblance  to  Philip 
Firmin,  the  Colonel's  grandson)  ;  Lord  Ringwood's  dead  self, 
finally,  as  he  appeared  still  a  young  man,  when  Lawrence 
painted  him,  and  when  he  was  the  companion  of  the  Regent 
and  his  friends.  "  Ah  !  that's  the  fellow  I  least  like  to  look 
at,"  the  old  man  would  say,  scowling  at  the  picture,  and 
breaking  out  into  the  old-fashioned  oaths  which  garnished 
many  conversations  in  his  young  days.  "  That  fellow  could 
ride  all  day  ;  and  sleep  all  night,  or  go  without  sleep  as  he 
chose  ;  and  drink  his  four  bottles  and  never  have  a  headache  ; 
and  break  his  collar-bone,  and  see  the  fox  killed  three  hours 
after.     That  was  once  a  man,  as  old  Marlborough  said,  looking 


ON  HIS  \VA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


355 


at  his  own  picture.  Now  my  doctor's  my  master  ;  my  doctor 
and  the  infernal  gout  over  him.  I  live  upon  pap  and  puddens, 
like  a  baby;  only  I've  shed  all  my  teeth,  hang  'em.  If  I  drink 
three  glasses  of  sherry,  my  butler  threatens  me.  You  young 
fellow,  who  haven't  twopence  in  your  pocket,  by  George,  I 
would  like  to  change  with  you.  Only  you  wouldn't,  hang  you, 
you  wouldn't.  Why,  I  don't  believe  Todhunter  would  change  witli 
me  :  would  you,  Todhunter  ? — and  you're  about  as  fond  of  a 
great  man  as  any  fellow  I  ever  knew.  Don't  tell  me.  Yourt'/r, 
sir.  Why,  when  I  walked  with  you  on  Ryde  sands  one  day,  I 
said  to  that  fellow,  '  Todhunter,  don't  you  think  I  could  order 
the  sea  to  stand  still  ? '  I  did.  And  you  had  never  heard  of 
King  Canute,  hanged  if  you  had,  and  never  read  any  book 
except  the  Stud-book  and  Mrs.  Glasse's  Cookery,  hanged  if 
you  did."  Such  remarks  and  conversations  of  his  relative  has 
Philip  reported  to  me.  Two  or  three  men  about  town  had  very 
good  imitations  of  this  toothless,  growling,  blasphemous  old 
cynic.  He  was  splendid  and  penurious  ;  violent  and  easily  led  ; 
surrounded  by  flatterers  and  utterly  lonely.  He  had  old-world 
notions,  which  I  believe  have  passed  out  of  the  manners  of 
great  folks  now.  He  thought  it  beneath  him  to  travel  by 
railway,  and  his  post-chaise  was  one  of  the  last  on  the  road. 
The  tide  rolled  on  in  spite  of  this  old  Canute,  and  has  long 
since  rolled  over  him  and  h.is  post-chaise.  Why,  almost  all  his 
imitators  are  actually  dead  :  and  only  this  year,  when  old 
Jack  Mummers  gave  an  imitation  of  him  at  "  Bays's  "  (where 
Jack's  mimicry  used  to  be  received  with  shouts  of  laughter  but 
a  few  years  since),  there  was  a  dismal  silence  in  the  coffee- 
room,  exceiDt  from  two  or  three  young  men  at  a  near  table,  who 
said,  "  What  is  the  old  fool  mumbling  and  swearing  at  now? 
An  imitation  of  Lord  Ringwood,  and  who  was  he  ?  "  So  our 
names  pass  away,  and  are  forgotten  :  and  the  tallest  statues, 
do  not  the  sands  of  time  accumulate  and  overwhelm  than  ?  / 
have  not  forgotten  my  lord  ;  any  more  than  I  have  forgotten 
the  cock  of  my  school,  about  whom,  perhaps,  you  don't  care  to 
hear.  I  see  my  lord's  bald  head,  and  hooked  beak,  and  bushy 
eyebrows,  and  tall  velvet  collar,  and  brass  buttons,  and  great 
black  mouth,  and  trembling  hand,  and  trembling  parasites 
around  him,  and  I  can  hear  his  voice,  and  great  oaths,  and 
laughter.  You  parasites  of  to-day  are  bowing  to  other  great 
people  ;  and  this  great  one,  who  was  alive  only  yesterday,  is  as 
dead  as  George  IV.  or  Nebuchadnezzar. 

Well,  we  happen   to  read  that  Pliilip's  noble  relative  Lord 
Eingwood  has  arrived   at Hotel,  whilst  Philip  is  staying 


356  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

with  us ;  and  I  own  that  I  counsel  my  friend  to  go  and  wait 
upon  his  lordsliip.  He  had  been  v^ery  kind  at  Paris  :  he  had 
evidently  taken  a  liking  to  Philip.  I-'irmin  ought  to  go  and  see 
him.  Who  knows  ?  Lord  Ringwood  might  be  inclined  to  do 
something  for  his  brother's  grandson. 

This  was  just  the  point  which  any  one  wlio  knew  Philip 
should  have  hesitated  to  urge  upon  him.  To  try  and  make  him 
bow  and  smile  on  a  great  man  with  a  view  to  future  favors,  was  to 
demand  the  impossible  from  Firmin.  The  king's  men  may  lead 
the  king's  horses  to  the  water,  but  the  king  himself  can't  make 
them  drink.  I  own  that  I  came  back  to  the  subject,  and  urged 
it  repeatedly  on  my  friend.  "  I  haveh^^w,"  said  Philip,  sulkily, 
"  I  have  left  a  card  upon  him.  If  he  wants  me,  he  can  send  to 
No,  1 20,  Queen  Square,  Westminster,  my  present  hotel.  But 
if  you  think  he  will  give  me  anything  beyond  a  dinner,  I  tell 
you  you  are  mistaken." 

We  dined  that  day  with  Philip's  employer,  worthy  Mr. 
Mugford,  of  the  PaU  Mall  Gazette^  who  was  profuse  in  his 
hospitalities,  and  especially  gracious  to  Philip.  Mugford  was 
pleased  with  Firmin's  letters  ;  and  you  may  be  sure  that  severer 
critics  did  not  contradict  their  friend's  good-natured  patron. 
We  drove  to  the  suburban  villa  at  Plampstead,  and  steaming 
odors  of  soup,  mutton,  onions,  rushed  out  into  the  hall  to  give 
us  welcome,  and  to  warn  us  of  the  good  cheer  in  store  for  the 
party.  This  was  not  one  of  Mr.  Mugford's  days  for  counter- 
manding side  dishes,  I  promise  you.  Men  in  black  with  noble 
white  cotton  gloves  were  in  w-aiting  to  receive  us ;  and  Mrs. 
Mugford,  in  a  rich  blue  satin  and  feathers,  a  profusion  of 
flounces,  laces,  marabouts,  jewels,  and  eau-de-Cologne,  rose 
to  welcome  us  from  a  stately  sofa,  where  she  sat  surrounded 
by  her  children.  These,  too,  were  in  brilliant  dresses,  with 
shining  new-combed  hair.  The  ladies,  of  course,  instantly 
began  to  talk  about  their  children,  and  my  wife's  unfeigned 
admiration  for  Mrs.  Mugford's  last  baby  I  think  won 
that  worthy  lady's  good-will  at  once.  I  made  some  remark 
regarding  one  of  the  boys  as  being  the  picture  of  his 
father,  which  was  not  lucky.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  have  it 
from  her  husband's  own  admission,  that  Mrs.  Mugford  always 
thinks  I  am  "  chaffing  "  her.  One  of  the  boys  frankly  informed 
me  there  was  goose  for  dinner  ;  and  when  a  cheerful  cloop  was 
heard  from  a  neighboring  room,  told  me  that  was  Pa  drawing 
the  corks.  Why  should  Mrs.  Mugford  reprove  the  outspoken 
child  and  say,  "  James,  hold  your  tongue,  do  now  ?  "  Better 
wine  than  was  poured  forth,  when  those  corks  were  drawn, 


ON'  ms  IVAV  rJIROUGH  THE  WORLD.  357 

never  flowed  from  bottle. — I  say,  T  never  saw  better  wine  nor 
more  bottles.  If  ever  a  table  may  be  said  to  have  groaned,  that 
expression  might  with  justice  be  ai)plicd  to  Mugford's  mahog- 
any. Talbot  Twysden  would  have  feasted  forty  people  with  the 
meal  here  provided  for  eight  by  our  most  hospitable  entertainer. 
Though  Mugford's  editor  was  present,  who  thinks  himself  a 
very  fine  fellow,  I  assure  you,  but  whose  name  I  am  not  at 
liberty  to  divulge,  all  the  honors  of  the  entertainment  were  for 
the  Paris  Correspondent,  who  was  specially  requested  to  take 
Mrs.  M.  to  dinner.  As  an  earl's  grand-nephew,  and  a  lord's 
great-grandson,  of  course  we  felt  that  this  place  of  honor  was 
Firmin's  rights.  How  Mrs.  Mugford  pressed  him  to  eat !  She 
carved — I  am  very  glad  she  would  not  let  Philip  carve  for  her, 
for  he  might  have  sent  the  goose  into  her  lap — she  carved,  I 
say,  and  1  really  think  she  gave  him  more  stufRng  than  to  any 
of  us,  but  that  may  have  been  mere  envy  on  my  part.  Allusions 
to  Lord  Ringwood'were  repeatedly  made  during  dinner.  "  Lord 
R.  has  come  to  town,  Mr.  F.,  I  perceive,"  says  Mugford,  wink 
ing.  "  You've  been  to  see  him,  of  course  ? "  Mr.  Firmin 
glared  at  me  very  fiercely,  he  had  to  own  he /z^r-'/ been  to  call  on 
Lord  Ringwood.  Mugford  led  the  conversation  to  the  noble 
lord  so  frequently  that  Philip  madly  kicked  my  shins  under  the 
table.  I  don't  know  how  many  times  I  had  to  suffer  from  that 
foot  which  in  its  time  has  trampled  on  so  many  persons  :  a  kick 
for  each  time  Lord  Ringwood's  name,  houses,  parks,  properties, 
were  mentioned,  was  a  frightful  allowance.  Mrs.  Mugford 
would  say,  "  May  I  assist  you  to  a  little  pheasant,  Mr.  Firmin  ? 
I  dare  say  they  are  not  as  good  as  Lord  Ringwood's  "  (a  kick 
from  Philip)  ;  or  Mugford  would  exclaim,  "  Mr.  F.,  try  that 
'ock  !  Lord  Ringwood  hasn't  better  wine  than  that."  (Dread- 
ful punishment  upon  my  tibia  under  the  table.)  "John  !  Two 
'ocks,  me  and  Mr.  Firmin.  Join  us,  Mr.  P.,"  and  so  forth 
And  after  dinner,  to  the  ladies — as  my  wife,  whobetraj-ed  their 
mysteries,  informed  me — Mrs.  Mugford's  conversation  was  in- 
cessant regarding  the  Ringwood  family  and  Firmin's  relation- 
ship  to  that  noble  house.  The  meeting  of  the  old  lord  and 
Firmin  in  Paris  was  discussed  with  immense  interest.  "  His 
lordship  called  him  Philip  most  affable  !  he  was  very  fond  of 
Mr  Firmin,"  A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs.  Mugford  that  some- 
body else  was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Firmin.  She  hoped  it  would  be 
a  match,  and  that  his  lordship  would  do  the  handsome  thing  by 
his  nepheiv.  What  ?  My  wife  wondered  that  Mrs.  Mugford 
should  know  about  Philip's  affairs  ?  (and  wonder  indeed  she 
did).     A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs.  M — ,  a  friend  of  both  ladies, 


358  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

that  dear,  good  little  nurse  Brandon,  who  was  engaged and 

here  the  conversation  went  off  into  mysteries  which  I  certainly 
shall  not  reveal.  Suffice  it  that  Mrs.  Mugford  was  one  of  Mrs. 
Brandon's  best,  kindest,  and  most  constant  patrons — or  might 
I  be  permitted  to  say  matrons  ? — and  had  received  a  most 
favorable  report  of  us  frc^n  the  little  nurse.  And  here  Mrs. 
Pendennis  gave  a  verbatim  report  not  only  of  our  hostess's 
speech,  but  of  her  manner  and  accent.  "Yes,  ma'am,"  says 
Mrs.  Mugford  to  Mrs.  Pendennis,  "  our  friend  IVIrs.  B.  lias  told 
me  of  a  certain  gentleman  whose  name  shall  be  nameless.  His 
manner  is  cold,  not  to  say  'aughty.  He  seems  to  be  laughing 
at  people  sometimes — don't  say  No ;  I  saw  him  once  or  twice 
at  dinner,  both  him  and  Mr.  Firmin.  But  he  is  a  true  friend, 
Mrs.  Brandon  says  he  is.  And  when  you  know  him,  his  heart 
is  good."  Is  it  ?  Amen.  A  distinguished  writer  has  com- 
posed, in  not  very  late  days,  a  comedy  of  w-hich  the  cheerful 
moral  is,  that  we  are  "  not  so  bad  as  we  seem."  Aren't  we  ? 
Amen,  again.  Give  us  thy  hearty  liand,  lago  !  Tartuffe,  how 
the  world  has  been  mistaken  in  you  !  Macbeth  !  put  that  little 
affair  of  the  murder  out  of  your  mind.  It  was  a  momentary 
weakness ;  and  who  is  not  weak  at  times  ?  Blifil,  a  more 
maligned  man  than  you  does  not  exist !  O  humanity !  how  we 
have  been  mistaken  in  you  !  Let  us  expunge  tlie  vulgar  expres- 
sion "  miserable  sinners  "  out  of  all  prayer-books  ;  open  the 
port-holes  of  all  hulks;  bieak  the  chains  of  all  convicts;  and 
unlock  the  boxes  of  all  spoons. 

As  we  discussed  Mr.  Mugford's  entertainment  on  our  return 
home,  I  improved  the  occasion  with  Philip  ;  I  pointed  out  the 
reasonableness  of  the  hopes  which  he  might  entertain  of  help 
from  his  wealthy  kinsman,  and  actually  forced  him  to  promise 
to  wait  upon  my  lord  the  next  day.  Now,  when  Philip  iMrmin 
did  a  thing  against  his  will,  he  did  it  with  a  bad  grace.  When 
he  is  not  pleased,  he  does  not  pretend  to  be  liappy  ;  and  when 
he  is  sulky,  Mr.  Firmin  is  a  very  disagrceal/le  companion. 
Though  he  never  once  reproached  me  afterwards  with  what  hap- 
pened, I  own  that  I  have  had  cruel  twinges  of  conscience  since. 
If  I  had  not  sent  him  on  that  dutiful  visit  to  his  grand-uncle, 
what  occurred  might  never,  perhaps,  have  occurred  at  all.  I 
acted  for  the  best,  and  that  I  aver  ;  liowever  I  may  grie\e  for 
the  consequences  wliich  ensued  when  the  poor  fellow  followed 
my  advice. 

If  Philip  held  aloof  fron-i  Lord  Ringwood  in  London,  you 
may  be  sure  Philip's  dear  cousins  were  in  wailing  on  his  lord- 
ship, and  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  showing  their  respectful 


ON  HIS  ]VA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


359 


sympathy.  Was  Lord  Ringwood  ailing  ?  Mr,  Twysden,  or  Mrs. 
Twysden,  or  the  dear  girls,  or  Ringwood  their  brother,  were 
daily  in  his  lordship's  ante-chainber,  asking  for  news  of  his 
health.  They  bent  down  respectfully  before  Lord  Ringwood's 
major-domo.  They  would  have  given  him  money,  as  they 
always  averred,  only  what  sum  could  they  give  to  such  a  man 
as  Rudge  ?  They  actually  offered  to  bribe  Mr.  Rudge  with 
their  wine,  over  which  he  made  horrible  faces.  They  fawned 
and  smiled  before  him  always.  I  should  like  to  have  seen  that 
calm  Mrs.  Twysden,  that  serene,  high-bred  woman,  who  would 
cut  her  dearest  friend  if  misfortune  befell  her,  or  the  world 
turned  its  back ; — I  should  like  to  have  seen,  and  can  see  her 
in  my  mind's  eye,  simpering  and  coaxing,  and  wheedling  this 
footman.  She  made  cheap  presents  to  Mr.  Rudge  :  she  smiled 
on  him  and  asked  after  his  health.  And  of  course  Talbot 
Twysden  flattered  him  too  in  Talbot's  jolly  way.  It  was  a 
wink,  and  nod,  and  a  hearty  "  How  do  you  do  .-'  " — and  (after 
due  inquiries  made  and  answered  about  his  lordship)  it  would 
be,  "  Rudge  !  I  think  my  housekeeper  has  a  good  glass  of  port- 
wine  in  her  room,  if  you  happen  to  be  passing  that  way,  and 
my  lord  don't  want  you  !  "  And  with  a  grave  courtesy,  1  can 
fancy  Mr.  Rudge  bowing  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twysden,  and  thank- 
ing them  and  descending  to  Mrs.  Blenkinsop's  skinny  room 
where  the  port-wine  is  ready — and  if  Mr.  Rudge  and  Mrs.  Blen- 
kinsop  are  confidential,  I  can  fancy  their  talking  over  the  char- 
acters and  peculiarities  of  the  folks  up  stairs.  Servants  some- 
times actually  do  ;  and  if  master  and  mistress  are  humbugs, 
these  wretched  menials  sometimes  find  them  out. 

Now,  no  duke  could  be  more  lordly  and  condescending  in 
his  bearing  than  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  toward  the  menial  throng. 
In  those  days  when  he  had  money  in  his  pockets,  he  gave  Mr. 
Rudge  out  of  his  plenty  ;  and  the  man  remembered  his  gener- 
osity when  he  was  poor  ;  and  declared — in  a  select  society,  and 
in  the  company  of  the  relative  of  a  person  from  whom  1  have 
the  information — declared  in  the  presence  of  Captain  Gann  at 
the  "  Admiral  B — ng  Club  "  in  fact,  that  Mr.  Heff  was  always 
a  swell  ;  but  since  he  was  done,  he,  Rudge,  "  was  blest  if  that 
young  chap  warn't  a  greater  swell  than  hever."  And  Rudge 
actually  liked  this  poor  young  fellow  better  than  the  family  in 
Beaunash  Street,  whom  Mr.  R.  pronounced  to  be  "  a  shabby 
lot."  And  in  fact  it  was  Rudge  as  well  as  myself,  who  advised 
that  Philip  should  see  his  lordship. 

When  at  length  Philip  paid  his  second  visit,  Mr.  Rudge  said 
"  My  lord  will  see  you,  sir,  I  think.     He  has  beer  speaking  of 


360  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

you.  He's  very  unwell.  He's  going  to  have  a  fit  of  the  gout, 
I  think.  I'll  tell  him  you  are  here."  And  coming  back  to 
Philip,  after  a  brief  disappearance,  and  with  rather  a  scared 
face,  he  repeated  the  permission  to  enter,  and  again  cautioned 
him,  saying,  that  "  my  lord  was  very  queer." 

"  In  fact,  as  we  learned  afterwards,  through  the  channel 
previously  indicated,  my  lord,  when  he  heard  that  Philip  had 
called,  cried,  "  He  has,  has  he  ?  Hang  him,  send  him  in  ;  " 
using,  I  am  constrained  to  say,  in  place  of  the  monosyllable 
"hang,"  a  much  stronger  expression. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,   is  it  ? "  says  my  lord.     "  You  have  been 
in  London  ever  so  long,     Twysden  told  me  of  you  yesterday.' 

"  I  have  called  before,  sir,"  said  Philip  very  quietly. 

"  I  wonder  you  have  the  face  to  call  at  all,  sir !  "  cries  the 
old  man.  glaring  at  Philip.  His  lordship's  countenance  was  of 
a  gamboge  color  :  his  noble  eyes  were  blood-shot  and  starting  ; 
his  voice,  alwa3^s  very  harsh  and  strident,  was  now  specially 
unpleasant ;  and  from  the  crater  of  his  mouth,  shot  loud  ex- 
ploding oaths. 

"  Face,  my  lord  "i  "  says  Philip,  still  very  meek. 

"  Yes,  if  you  call  that  a  face  which  is  covered  over  with 
hair  like  a  baboon  !  "  growled  my  lord,  showing  his  tusks.  "  Twys- 
den was  here  last  night,  and  tells  me  some  pretty  news  about 
you," 

Philip  blushed  ;  he  knew  what  the  news  most  likely  would  be. 

"  Twysden  says  that  now  you  are  a  pauper,  by  George,  and 
living  by  breaking  stones  in  the  street, — you  have  been  such  an 
infernal,  drivelling,  hanged  fool,  as  to  engage  yourself  to  another 
pauper !  " 

Poor  Philip  turned  white  from  red  ;  and  spoke  slowly  :  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,  you  said " 

"  I  said  you  were  a  hanged  fool,  sir! "  roared  the  old  man  ; 
**  can't  you  hear  }  " 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  member  of  your  family,  my  lord,"  says 
Philip,  rising  up.  In  a  quarrel,  he  would  sometimes  lose  his 
temper,  and  speak  out  his  mind  ;  or  sometimes,  and  then  he 
was  most  dangerous,  he  would  be  especially  calm  and  Grandi- 
sonian. 

"  Some  hanged  adventurer,  thinking  you  were  to  get  money 
from  me,  has  hooked  you  for  his  daughter,  has  he  ? " 

"  I  have  engaged  myself  to  a  young  lady,  and  I  am  the 
poorer  of  the  two,"  says  Philip. 

"  She  thinks  you  will  get  money  from  me,"  contmues  his 
lordsJiip. 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  361 

"  Does  she  ?  I  never  did  !  "  replied  Philip. 

"  By  heaven,  you  sha'n't,  unless  you  give  up  this  rubbish." 

"  I  sha'n't  give  her  up,  sir,  and  I  shall  do  without  the  money," 
said  Mr.  P'irmin  very  boldly. 

"  Go  to  Tartarus  !  "  screamed  the  old  man. 

On  which  Philip  told  us,  "  I  said,  '  Seniores  priores,  my 
lord,'  and  turned  on  my  heel.  So  you  see  if  he  was  going  to 
leave  me  something,  and  he  nearly  said  he  was,  that  chance  is 
passed  now,  and  I  have  made  a  pretty  morning's  work."  And 
a  pretty  morning's  work  it  was  :  and  it  was  I  who  had  set  him 
upon  it !  My  brave  Philip  not  only  did  not  rebuke  me  for  hav- 
ing sent  him  on  this  errand,  but  took  the  blame  of  the  business 
on  himself.  "Since  I  have  been  engaged,"  he  said,  "I  am 
growing  dreadfully  avaricious,  and  am  almost  as  sordid  about 
money  as  those  Twysdens.  I  cringed  to  that  old  man  :  I 
crawled  before  his  gouty  feet.  Well,  I  could  crawl  from  here 
to  Saint  James's  Palace  to  get  some  money  for  my  little  Char- 
lotte." Philip  cringe  and  crawl  !  If  there  were  no  posture- 
masters  more  supple  than  Philip  Firmin,  kotowing  would  be  a 
lost  art,  like  the  Menuet  de  la  Cou7\  But  fear  not,  ye  great ! 
Men's  backs  were  made  to  bend,  and  the  race  of  pai;asites  is 
still  in  good  repute. 

When  our  friend  told  us  how  his  brief  interview  with  Lord 
Ringwood  had  begun  and  ended,  I  think  those  who  counselled 
Philip  to  wait  upon  his  grand-uncle  felt  rather  ashamed  of  their 
worldly  wisdom  and  the  advice  which  they  had  given.  We 
ought  to  have  known  our  Huron  sufficiently  to  be  aware  that  it 
was  a  dangerous  experiment  to  set  him  bowing  in  lord's  ante- 
chambers. Were  not  his  elbows  sure  to  break  some  courtly 
china,  his  feet  to  trample  and  tear  some  lace  train  ?  So  all  the 
good  we  had  done  was  to  occasion  a  quarrel  between  him  and 
his  patron.  Lord  Ringwood  avowed  that  he  had  intended  to 
leave  Philip  money  ;  and  by  trusting  the  poor  fellow  into  the 
old  nobleman's  sick-chamber,  we  had  occasioned  a  quarrel  be- 
tween the  relatives,  who  parted  with  mutual  threats  and  anger. 
"  Oh,  dear  me  !  "  I  groaned  in  connubial  colloquies.  "  Let  us 
get  him  away.  He  will  be  boxing  Mugford's  ears  next,  and  telling 
Mrs.  Mugford  that  she  is  vulgar,  and  a  bore."  He  was  eager 
to  get  back  to  his  work,  or  rather  to  his  lady-love  at  Paris.  We 
did  not  try  to  detain  him.  For  fear  of  further  accidents  we 
were  rather  anxious  that  he  should  be  gone.  Crestfallen  and 
sad,  I  accompanied  him  to  the  Boulogne  boat.  He  paid  for 
his  place  in  the  second  cabin,  and  stoutly  bade  us  adieu.  A  rough 
night  -.   a  wet,  slippery  deck :  a  crowd  of  frowzy  fellow-passen- 


362  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

gers  :  and  poor  Philip  in  the  midst  of  them  in  a  thin  cloak,  his 
yellow  hair  and  beard  blowing  about :  I  see  the  steamer  now, 
and  left  her  with  I  know  not  what  feelings  of  contrition  and 
shame.  Why  had  I  sent  Philip  to  call  upon  that  savage,  over- 
bearing old  patron  of  his  ?  Why  compelled  liim  to  that  boot- 
less act  of  submission  ?  Lord  Ringwood's  brutalities  were 
matters  of  common  notoriety.  A  wicked,  dissolute,  cynical  old 
man :  and  we  must  try  to  make  friends  with  this  mammon  of 
unrighteousness,  and  set  poor  Philip  to  bow  before  him  and 
flatter  him  !  Ah,  vtea  culpa,  mea  ctilpa  !  The  wind  blew  liard 
that  winter  night,  and  many  tiles  and  chimney-pots  blew  down  : 
and  as  I  thought  of  poor  Philip  tossing  in  the  frowzy  second 
cabin,  I  rolled  about  my  own  bed  very  uneasily. 

"  I  looked  into  "  Bay's  Club  "  the  day  after,  and  there  fell 
on  both  the  Twysdens.  The  parasite  of  a  father  was  clinging 
to  the  button  of  a  great  man  when  I  entered :  the  little  reptile 
of  a  son  came  to  the  club  in  C'aptain  Woolcomb's  brougham, 
and  in  that  distinguished  mullatto  oflficer's  company.  They 
looked  at  me  in  a  peculiar  way.  I  was  sure  they  did.  Talbot 
Twysden,  pouring  his  loud  braggart  talk  in  the  ear  of  poor  Lord 
Lepel,  eyed  me  with  a  glance  of  triumph,  and  talked  and  swag- 
gered so  that  I  should  hear.  Ringwood  Twysden  and  Wool- 
comb,  drinking  absinthe  to  whet  their  noble  appetites,  ex- 
changed glances  and  grins.  Woolcomb's  eyes  were  of  the 
color  of  the  absinthe  he  swallowed.  I  did  not  see  that  Twysden 
tore  off  one  of  Lord  Lepel's  buttons,  but  that  nobleman, 
with  a  scared  countenance,  moved  away  rapidly  from  his  little 
persecutor.  "  Hang  him,  throw  him  over,  and  come  to  me  ! "  I 
heard  the  generous  Twysden  say.  "  I  expect  Ringwood  and 
■  one  or  two  more."  At  this  proposition.  Lord  Lepel,  in  a  trem- 
ulous way,  muttered  that  he  could  not  break  his  engagement, 
and  fled  out  of  the  club. 

Twysden 's  dinners,  the  polite  reader  has  been  previously 
informed,  were  notorious  ;  and  he  constantly  bragged  of  having 
the  company  of  Lord  Ringwood.  Now  it  so  happened  that  on 
this  very  evening,  Lord  Ringwood,  with  three  of  his  followers, 
henchmen,  or  led  captains,  dined  at  Bays's  Club,  being  deter- 
mined to  see  a  pantomime  in  which  a  very  pretty  young  Colum 
bine  figured  :  and  some  one  in  the  house  joked  with  his  lordship, 
and  said,  "Why,  you  are  going  to  dine  with  Talbot  Twysden. 
He  said,  just  now,  that  he  expected  you," 

"  Did  he  ?  "  said  his  lordship.  "  Then  Talbot  Twysden  told 
a  hanged  lie  !  "  And  little  Tom  Eaves,  my  informant,  remem- 
bered these  remarkable  words,  because  of  a  circumstance  which 
now  almost  immediately  followed. 


OxV  HIS  \VA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  363 

A  very  few  clays  after  Philip's  departure,  our  friend,  the 
Little  Sister,  came  'to  us  at  our  breakfast-table,  wearin<;  an  ex- 
pression of  much  trouble  and  sadness  on  her  kind  little  face  ; 
the  causes  of  which  sorrow  she  explained  to  us,  as  soon  as  our 
children  had  gone  away  to  their  schoolroom.  Amongst  Mrs. 
Brandon's  friends,  and  one  of  her  father's  constant  companions, 
was  the  worthy  Mr.  Ridley,  father  of  the  celebrated  painter  of 
that  name,  who  was  himself  of  much  too  honorable  and  noble 
a  nature  to  be  ashamed  of  his  humble  paternal  origin.  Com- 
panionship between  father  and  son  could  not  be  very  close  or 
intimate  ;  especially  as  in  the  younger  Ridley's  boyhood,  his 
father,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  fine  arts,  had  looked  upon  the 
child  as  a  sickly,  half-witted  creature,  who  would  be  to  his 
parents  but  a  grief  and  a  burden.  But  when  J.  J.  Ridley,  Esq., 
began  to  attain  eminence  in  his  profession,  his  father's  eyes 
were  opened  ;  in  place  of  neglect  and  contempt,  he  looked  up 
to  his  boy  with  a  sincere,  naive  admiration,  and  often,  with  tears, 
has  narrated  the  pride  and  pleasure  which  he  felt  on  the  day 
when  he  waited  on  John  James  at  his  master  Lord  Todmorden's 
table.  Ridley  senior  now  felt  that  he  had  been  unkind  and 
unjust  to  his  boy  in  the  latter's  early  days,  and  with  a  very 
touching  humility  the  old  man  acknowledged  his  previous  injus- 
tice, and  tried  to  atone  for  it  by  present  respect  and  affection. 

Though  fondness  for  his  son,  and  delight  in  the  company  of 
Captain  Gann,  often  drew  Mr.  Ridley  to  Thornhaugh  Street, 
and  to  the  "  Admiral  Byng  "  Club,  of  which  both  were  leading 
members,  Ridley  senior  belonged  to  other  clubs  at  the  West 
End,  where  Lord  Todmorden's  butler  consorted  with  the  confi- 
dential butlers  of  others  of  the  nobility  :  and  I  am  informed  that 
in  those  clubs  Ridley  continued  to  be  called  "  Todmorden  " 
long  after  his  connection  with  that  venerable  nobleman  had 
ceased.  He  continued  to  be  called  Lord  Todmorden,  in  fact, 
just  as  Lord  Popinjoy  is  still  called  by  his  old  friends  Popinjoy, 
though  his  father  is  dead,  and  Popinjoy,  as  everybody  knows, 
is  at  present  Earl  of  Pintado. 

At  one  of  these  clubs  of  their  order.  Lord  Todmorden's  man 
was  in  the  constant  habit  of  meeting  Lord  Ringwood's  man, 
when  their  lordships  (master  and  man)  were  in  town.  These 
gentlemen  had  a  regard  for  each  other ;  and,  when  they  met, 
communicated  to  each  other  their  views  of  society,  and  their 
opinions  of  the  characters  of  the  various  noble  lords  and  influ- 
ential commoners  whom  they  served.  Mr.  Rudge  knew  every- 
thing about  Philip  Firmin's  affairs,  about  the  Doctor's  flight, 
about  Philip's  generous  behavior.     "Generous!     /call  it  ad- 


364  ^-^^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

niiral !  "  old  Ridley  remarked,  while  narrating  this  trait  of 
our  friend's — and  his  present  position.  And  Rudge  contrasted 
Philip's  manly  behavior  with  the  conduct  of  some  sneaks  which 
he  would  not  name  them,  but  which  they  were  always  speaking 
ill  of  the  poor  young  fellow  behind  his  back,  and  sneaking  up 
to  my  lord,  and  greater  skinflints  and  meaner  humbugs  ne\er 
were  :  and  there  was  no  accounting  for  tastes,  but  he,  Rudge, 
would  not  marry  his  daughter  to  a  black  man. 

Now  :  that  day  when  Mr,  Firmin  went  to  see  my  Lord  Ring- 
wood  was  one  of  my  lord's  very  worst  days,  when  it  was  almost 
as  dangerous  to  go  near  him  as  to  approach  a  Bengal  tiger. 
When  he  is  going  to  have  a  fit  of  gout,  his  lordship  (Mr.  Rudge 
remarked)  "  was  hawful."  He  curse  and  swear,  he  do,  at  every 
body  ;  even  the  clergy  or  the  ladies — all's  one.  On  that  very 
day  when  Mr.  Firmin  called  he  had  said  to  Mr.  Twysden,  '  Get 
out,  and  don't  come  slandering,  and  backbiting,  and  bullying 
that  poor  devil  of  a  boy  any  more.  It's  blackguardly,  by 
George,  sir — it's  blackguardly.'  And  Twysden  came  out  with 
his  tail  between  his  legs,  and  he  says  to  me — '  Rudge,'  says  he, 
'  my  lord's  uncommon  bad  to-day.'  Well,  he  hadn't  been  gone 
an  hour  when  pore  Philip  comes,  bad  luck  to  him,  and  my  lord, 
who  had  just  heard  from  Twysden  all  about  that  young  woman 
■ — that  party  at  Paris,  Mr.  Ridley — and  it  is  about  as  great  a 
piece  of  folly  as  ever  I  heard  tell  of — my  lord  turns  upon  the 
pore  young  fellar  and  call  him  names  worse  than  Twysden, 
But  Mr.  Plrmin  ain't  that  sort  of  man,  he  isn't.  He  \von't  suffer 
any  man  to  call  him  names  ;  and  1  suppose  he  gave  my  lord  his 
own  back  again,  for  I  heard  my  lord  swear  at  him  tremendous, 
I  did,  with  my  own  ears.  When  my  lord  has  the  gout  flying 
about  I  told  you  he  is  awful.  When  he  takes  his  colchicum 
he's  worse.  Now,  we  have  got  a  party  at  Whipham  at  Christ- 
mas, and  at  Whipham  we  must  be.  And  he  took  his  colchicum 
niglit  before  last,  and  to-day  he  was  in  such  a  tremendous  rage 
of  swearing,  cursing,  and  blowing  up  everybody,  that  it  was  as 
if  he  was  red  hot.  And  when  Twysden  and  Mrs.  Twysden 
called  that  day — (if  you  kick  that  fellar  out  at  the  hall  door, 
I'm  blest  if  he  won't  come  smirking  down  the  chimney) — he 
wouldn't  see  any  of  them.  And  he  bawled  out  after  me,  *  If 
Firmin  comes,  kick  him  down  stairs — do  you  hear?'  with  ever 
so  many  oaths  and  curses  against  the  poor  fellow,  while  he 
vowed  he  would  never  see  his  hanged  impudent  face  again. 
But  this  wasn't  all,  Ridley.  He  sent  for  Bradgate,  his  lawyer, 
that  very  day.  He  had  back  his  will,  which  I  signed  myself  as 
one  of  tlie  witnesses — me  and  Wilcox,  the  master  of  the  hotel— 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  365 

and  I  know  he  had  left  Firmin  something  in  it.  Take  my  word 
for  it.  To  that  poor  young  fellow  he  means  mischief."  A  full 
report  of  this  conversation  Mr.  Ridley  gave  to  his  little  friend 
Mrs.  Brandon,  knowing  the  interest  which  Mrs.  Brandon  took 
in  the  young  gentleman  ;  and  with  these  unpleasant  news  Mrs. 
Brandon  came  off  to  advise  with  those  who — the  good  nurse 
was  pleased  to  say — were  Philip's  best  friends  in  the  world. 
We  wished  we  could  give  the  Little  Sister  comfort :  but  all  the 
world  knew  what  a  man  Lord  Ringwood  was — how  arbitrary, 
how  revengeful,  how  cruel ! 

I  knew  Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer,  with  whom  I  had  business, 
and  called  upon  him,  more  anxious  to  speak  about  Philip's 
affairs  than  my  own.  I  suppose  I  was  too  eager  in  coming  to 
my  point,  for  Bradgate  saw  the  meaning  of  my  questions,  and 
declined  to  answer  them.  "  My  client  and  I  are  not  the  dear- 
est friends  in  the  world,"  Bradgate  said,  "  but  I  must  keep  his 
counsel,  and  nmst  not  tell  you  whether  Mr.  Firmin's  name  is 
down  in  his  lordship's  will  or  not.  How  should  I  know  ?  He 
may  have  altered  his  will.  He  may  have  left  Firmin  money  ; 
he  may  have  left  him  none.  I  hope  young  Firmin  does  not 
count  on  a  legacy.  That's  all.  He  may  be  disappointed  if  he 
does.  Why,  you  may  hope  for  a  legacy  from  Lord  Ringwood, 
and  you  may  be  disappointed.  I  know  scores  of  people  who 
do  hope  for  something,  and  who  won't  get  a  penny."  And  this 
was  all  the  reply  I  could  get  at  that  time  from  the  oracular  little 
lawyer. 

I  told  my  wife,  as  of  course  every  dutiful  man  tells  every- 
thing to  every  dutiful  wife  : — but,  though  Bradgate  discouraged 
us,  there  was  somehow  a  lurking  hope  still  that  the  old  noble- 
man would  provide  for  our  friend.  Then  Philip  would  marry 
Charlotte.  Then  he  would  earn  ever  so  much  more  money  by 
his  newspaper.  Then  he  would  be  happy  e\er  after.  My^wife 
counts  eggs  not  only  before  they  are  hatched,  but  before'they 
are  laid.  Never  was  such  an  obstinate  hopefulness  of  character. 
I,  on  the  other  hand,  take  a  rational  and  despondent  view  of 
things ;  and  if  they  turn  out  better  than  I  expect,  as  sometimes 
they  will,  I  affably  own  that  I  have  been  mistaken. 

But  an  early  day  came  when  Mr.  Bradgate  was  no  longer 
needful,  or  when  he  thought  himself  released  from  the  obli- 
gations of  silence  with  regard  to  his  noble  client.  It  was  two 
days  before  Christmas,  and  I  took  my  accustomed  afternoon 
saunter  to  "  Bays's,"  where  other  habitues  of  the  club  were 
assembled.  There  was  no  little  buzzing  and  excitement  among 
the  frequenters  of  the  place.     Talbot  Twysden  always  arrived 


366  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

at  "Bays's"  at  ten  minutes  past  four,  and  scuffled  for  the 
evening  pajDcr,  as  if  its  contents  were  matter  of  great  importance 
to  Talbot.  He  would  hold  men's  buttons,  and  discourse  to 
them  the  leading  article  out  of  that  paper  with  an  astounding 
emphasis  and  gravity.  On  this  day,  some  ten  minutes  after  his 
accustomed  hour,  he  reached  the  club.  Other  gentlemen  were 
engaged  in  perusing  the  evening  journal.  The  lamps  on  the 
tables  lighted  up  the  bald  heads,  the  gray  heads,  dyed  heads, 
and  the  wigs  of  many  assembled  fogies — murmurs  went  about 
the  room  :  "  Very  sudden."  "  Gout'"in  the  stomach."  "  Dined 
here  only  four  days  ago."  "  Looked  very  well."  "  Very  well .? 
No!  Never  saw  a  fellow  look  worse  in  my  life."  "Yellow  as 
a  guinea."  "  Couldn't  eat."  "  Swore  dreadfully  at  the  waiters, 
and  at  Tom  Eaves  who  dined  with  him."  "  Seventy-six,  I  see 
— Born  in  the  same  year  with  the  Duke  of  York."  "  Forty 
thousand  a  year."  "  Forty  t  fifty-eight  thousand  three  hundred, 
I  tell  you.  Always  been  a  saving  man."  "  Estate  goes  to  his 
cousin,  sir  John  Ringwood  :  not  a  member  here — member  of 
'  Boodle's.'  "  "  Hated  each  other  furiously.  Very  violent 
temper,  the  old  fellow  was.  Never  got  over  the  Reform  Bill, 
they  used  to  say."  "  Wonder  whether  he'll  leave  anything  to 
old  bow-wow  Twys — "  Here  enters  Talbot  Twysden,  Esq. — 
"  Ha,  Colonel !  How  are  you  .?  What's  the  news  to-night  t 
Kept  late  at  my  office,  making  up  accounts.  Going  down  to 
Whipham  to-morrow  to  pass  Christmas  with  my  wife's  uncle — 
Ringwood,  you  know.  Always  go  down  to  \\'hipham  at  Christ- 
mas. Keeps  the  pheasants  for  us.  No  longer  a  hunting  man 
myself.     Lost  my  nerve,  by  George." 

Whilst  the  braggart  little  creature  indulged  in  this  pompous 
talk,  he  did  not  see  the  significant  looks  which  were  fixed  upon 
Jiim,  or  if  he  remarked  them,  was  perhaps  pleased  by  the 
attention  which  he  excited.  "  Bays's  "  had  long  echoed  with 
Twysden's  account  of  Ringwood,  the  pheasants,  his  own  loss 
of  nerve  in  hunting,  and  the  sum  which  their  family  would  in- 
herit at  the  death  of  their  noble  relative. 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  you  say  Sir  John  Ringwood  inherits 
after  your  relatives  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hookham. 

"  Yes  ;  the  estate,  not  the  title.  The  earldom  goes  to  my 
lord  and  his  heirs— Hookham.  Why  sliouldn't  he  marry  again  >. 
I  often  say  to  him,  '  Ringwood,  whv  don't  vou  marry,  if  it's 
only  to  disappoint  that  Whig  fellow,  Sir  John  ?  You  are  fresh 
and  halo,  Ringwood.  You  may  li\e  twenty  years,  five-and-twenty 
years.  If  you  lea\e  your  niece  and  my  children  anything,  we're 
not  in  a  hurry  to  inherit,'  I  say ;  '  why  don't  you  marry>  '  " 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  3G7 

"  Ah  !  Tvvysden,  he's  past  marrying,"  groans  Mr.  Hookham. 

"  Not  at  all.  Sober  man,  now.  Stout  man.  Immense 
powerful  man.  Healthy  man,  but  for  gout.  I  often  say  to  him, 
'  Ringwood  !  I  say '  " 

"  Oh,  for  mercy's  sake,  stop  this !  "  groans  old  Mr.  Tremlett, 
who  always  begins  to  shudder  at  the  sound  of  poor  Twysden's 
voice.     "Tell  him,  somebody." 

"  Haven't  you  heard,  Twysden  t  Haven't  you  seen  ?  Don't 
you  know  .'  "  asks  Mr.  Hookham,  solemnly. 

"  Heard,  seen,  known — what  ?  "  cries  the  other. 

"  An  accident  has  happened  to  Lord  Ringwood.  Look  at 
the  paper.  Here  it  is."  And  Twysden  pulls  out  his  great  gold 
eyeglasses,  holds  the  paper  as  far  as  his  little  arm  will  reach, 

and and  merciful  Powers  ! but  I  will  not  venture 

to  depict  the  agony  on  that  noble  face.  Like  Timanthes  the 
painter,  T  hide  this  Agamemnon  with  a  veil.  I  cast  the  Globe 
newspaper  over  him.  lUabatur  orbis  :  and  let  imagination 
depict  our  Twysden  under  the  ruins. 

What  Tw\'sden  read  in  the  Globe  was  a  mere  curt  paragraph  ; 
but  in  next  morning's  Times  there  was  one  of  those  obituary 
notices  to  which  noblemen  of  eminence  must  submit  from  the 
mysterious  nec.rographer  engaged  by  that  paper. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PULVIS    ET   UMBRA    SUMUS. 


The  first  and  only  Earl  of  Ringwood  has  submitted  to  the 
fate  which  peers  and  commoners  are  alike  destined  to  undergo. 
Hastening  to  his  magnificent  seat  of  Wiiipliam  Market,  where 
he  proposed  to  entertain  an  illustrious  Christmas  party,  his  lord- 
ship left  London  scarcely  recovered  from  an  attack  of  gout  to 
which  he  has  been  for  many  years  a  martyr.  The  disease 
must  have  flown  to  his  stomach,  and  suddenly  mastered  him. 
At  Turreys  Regum,  thirty  miles  from  his  own  princely  habita- 
tion, where  he  had  been  accustomed  to  dine  on  his  almost  royal 
progresses  to  his  home,  he  was  already  in  a  state  of  dread- 
ful suffering,  to  which  his  attendants  did  not  pay  the  attention 
which  his  condition  ought  to  have  excited  ;  for  when  laboring 
under  this  most  painful  malady  his  outcries  were  loud,  and  his 
language  and  demeanor   exceedingly  violent.     He  angrily  re- 


368  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PI/IL/P 

fused  to  send  for  medical  aid  at  Turreys,  and  insisted  on  con- 
tinuing his  journey  homewards.  He  was  one  of  the  old  school, 
who  would  never  enter  a  railway  (though  his  fortune  was 
greatly  increased  by  the  passage  of  the  railway  through  his 
property)  ;  and  his  own  horses  always  met  him  at  "  Popper's 
Tavern,"  an  obscure  hamlet,  seventeen  miles  from  his  princely 
seat.  He  made  no  sign  on  arriving  at  "  Poppers,"  and  spoke 
no  word,  to  the  now  serious  alarm  of  his  ser\-ants.  When  they 
came  to  light  his  carriage-lamps,  and  look  into  his  post-chaise, 
the  lord  of  many  thousand  acres,  and  according  to  report,  of 
immense  wealth,  was  dead.  The  journey  from  Turreys  had 
been  the  last  stage  of  a  long  prosperous,  and,  if  not  a  famous, 
at  least  a  notorious  and  magnificent  career. 

"The  late  John  George,  Earl  and  Baron  Ringwood  and  Vis- 
count Cinqbars,  entered  into  public  life  at  the  dangerous  period 
before  the  French  Revolution  j  and  commenced  his  career  as 
the  friend  and  companion  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  When  his 
Royal  Highness  seceded  from  the  Whig  part}'.  Lord  Ringwood 
also  joined  the  Tory  side  of  politicians,  and  an  earldom  was  the 
price  of  his  fidelity.  But  on  the  elevation  of  Lord  Steyne  to  a 
marquisate.  Lord  Ringwood  quarrelled  for  awhile  with  his  royal 
patron  and  friend,  deeming  his  own  services  unjustly  slighted, 
as  a  like  dignity  was  not  conferred  on  himself.  On  several  oc- 
casions he  ga\e  his  vote  against  Government,  and  caused 
his  nominees  in  the  House  of  Commons  to  vote  with  the 
Whigs.  He  never  was  reconciled  to  his  late  Majesty  George 
IV.,  of  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  with  character- 
istic bluntness.  The  approach  of  the  Reform  Bill,  however, 
threw  this  nobleman  definitively  on  the  Tory  side,  of  which  he 
has  ever  since  remained,  if  not  an  eloquent,  at  least  a  violent 
supporter.  He  was  said  to  be  a  liberal  landlord,  so  long  as  his 
tenants  did  not  thwart  him  in  his  views.  His  only  son  died 
early  ;  and  his  lordship,  according  to  report,  has  long  been  on 
ill  terms  with  his  kinsman  and  successor.  Sir  John  Ringwood, 
of  Applcshaw,  Baronet.  The  Barony  has  been  in  this  ancient 
family  since  the  reign  of  (ieorge  L,  when  Sir  John  Ringwood 
was  ennobled,  and  Sir  Francis,  his  brother,  a  Baron  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, was  advanced  to  the  dignity  of  Baronet  by  the  first  of 
our  Hanoverian  sovereigns." 

This  was  the  article  which  my  wife  and  I  read  on  the  morn- 
ing of  Christmas  eve,  as  our  children  were  decking  lamps  and 
looking-glasses  with  holly  and  red  berries  for  the  approaching 
festi\al.  I  had  despatched  a  hurried  note,  containing  the  news, 
to  Philip  on  the  night  previous.     \\c  were  painfully  anxious 


OiY  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  369 

about  Ills  fate  now,  when  a  few  clays  would  decide  it.  Again 
my  business  or  curiosity  took  me  to  see  Mr.  Bradgate,  the 
lawyer.  He  was  in  possession  of  the  news  of  course.  He  was 
not  averse  to  talk  about  it.  The  death  of  his  client  unsealed 
the  lawyer's  lips  partially:  and  I  must  say  Bradgate  spoke  in  a 
manner  not  flattering  to  his  noble  deceased  client.  The  brutal- 
ities of  the  late  nobleman  had  been  very  hard  to  bear.  On  oc- 
casion of  their  last  meeting  his  oaths  and  disrespectful  behavior 
had  been  specially  odious.  He  had  abused  almost  every  one 
of  his  relatives.  His  heir,  he  said,  was  a  prating,  republican 
humbug.  He  had  a  relative  (whom  Bradgate  said  he  would 
not  name)  who  was  a  scheming,  swaggering,  swindling  lick- 
spittle parasite,  always  cringing  at  his  heels  and  longing  for 
his  death.  And  he  had  another  relative,  the  impudent  son  of 
a  swindling  doctor,  who  had  insulted  him  two  hours  before  in 
his  own  room  ; — a  fellow  who  was  a  pauper,  and  going  to  prop- 
agate a  breed  for  the  workhouse ;  for,  after  his  behavior  of 
that  day,  he  would  be  condemned  to  the  lowest  pit  of  Acheron, 
before  he,  Lord  Ringwood,  would  give  that  scoundrel  a  penny  of 
his  money.  "  And  his  lordship  desired  me  to  send  him  back 
his  will,"  said  Mr,  Bradgate.  And  he  destroyed  that  will  be- 
fore he  went  away  :  it  was  not  the  first  he  had  burned.  "  And 
I  may  tell  you,  now  all  is  over,  that  he  had  left  his  brother's 
grandson  a  handsome  legacy  in  that  will,  which  your  poor  friend 
might  have  had,  but  that  he  went  to  see  my  lord  in  his  unlucky 
fit  of  gout."  Ah,  mea  culpa!  mea  culpa!  And  who  sent 
Philip  to  see  his  relative  in  that  unlucky  fit  of  gout  ?  Who  was 
so  worldly-wise — so  Twysden-like,  as  to  counsel  Philip  to  flattery 
and  submission  ?  But  for  that  advice  he  might  be  wealthy  now  \ 
he  might  be  happy  ;  he  might  be  ready  to  marry  his  young 
sweetheart.  Our  Christmas  turkey  choked  me  as  I  ate  of  it. 
The  lights  burned  dimly,  and  the  kisses  and  laughter  under  the 
mistletoe  were  but  melancholy  sport.  But  for  my  advice,  how 
happy  might  my  friend  have  been  !  I  looked  askance  at  the 
honest  faces  of  my  children.  What  would  they  say  if  they 
knew  their  father  had  advised  a  friend  to  cringe,  and  bow,  and 
humble  himself  before  a  rich,  wicked  old  man  ?  I  sat  as  mute 
at  the  pantomime  as  at  a  burial ;  the  laughter  of  the  little  ones 
smote  me  as  with  a  reproof.  A  burial }  With  plumes  and 
lights,  an  upholsterers'  pageantry,  and  mourning  by  the  yard 
measure,  they  were  burying  my  Lord  Ringwood,  who  might 
have  made  Philip  Firniin  rich  but  forme. 

All  lingering  hopes  regarding  our  friend  were  quickly  i^ut  to 
an  end.     A  will  was  found  at  Whipham,  dated  a  year  back  in 

24 


37° 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILTP 


which  no  mention  was  made  of  poor  Philip  Firmin.  Small  lega- 
cies— disgracefully  shabby,  and  small,  Twysden  said — were  left 
to  the  Twysden  family,  with  tlie  full-length  portrait  of  the  late  earl 
in  his  coronation  robes,  which,  1  should  think,  must  have  given 
but  small  satisfaction  to  his  surviving  relatives  ;  for  his  lordship 
was  but  an  ill-favored  nobleman,  and  the  price  of  the  carriage 
of  the  large  picture  from  Whipham  was  a  tax  which  poor  Tal- 
bot made  very  wry  faces  at  paying.  Had  the  picture  been  ac- 
companied by  thirty  or  forty  thousand  pounds,  or  fifty  thousand 
— why  should  he  not  have  left  them  fifty  thousand  ? — how  dif- 
ferent Talbot's  grief  would  have  been  !  Whereas  when  Talbot 
counted  up  the  dinners  he  had  given  to  Lord  Ringwood,  all  of 
which  he  could  easily  calculate  by  his  cunning  ledgers  and 
journals  in  which  was  noted  down  every  feast  at  which  his  lord- 
ship attended,  every  guest  assembled,  and  every  bottle  of  wine 
drunk,  Twysden  found  that  he  had  absolutely  spent  more  money 
upon  my  lord  than  the  old  man  had  paid  back  in  his  will.  But 
all  the  family  went  into  mourning,  and  the  Twysden  coachman 
and  footman  turned  out  in  black  worsted  epaulettes  in  honor  of 
the  illustrious  deceased.  It  is  not  every  day  that  a  man  gets  a 
chance  of  publicly  bewailing  the  loss  of  an  earl  his  relative.  I 
suppose  Twysden  took  many  hundred  people  into  his  confidence 
on  this  matter,  and  bewailed  his  uncle's  death  and  his  own 
wrongs  whilst  clinging  to  many  scores  of  button-holes. 

And  how  did  poor  Philip  bear  the  disappointment  ?  He 
must  have  felt  it,  for  I  fear  we  ourselves  had  encouraged  him 
in  the  hope  that  his  grand-uncle  would  do  something  to  relieve 
his  necessity.  Philip  put  a  bit  of  crape  round  his  hat,  wrapped 
himself  in  his  shabby  old  mantle,  and  declined  any  outward 
show  of  grief  at  all.  If  the  old  man  had  left  him  money,  it  had 
been  well.  As  he  did  not, — a  puff  of  cigar,  perhaps,  ends  the 
sentence,  and  our  philosopher  gives  no  further  thought  to  his 
disappointment.  Was  not  Philip  the  poor  as  lordly  and  inde- 
pendent as  Philip  the  rich  ?  A  struggle  with  poverty  is  a  whole- 
some wrestling-match  at  three  or  five  and  twenty.  The  sinews 
are  young,  and  are  braced  by  the  contest.  It  is  upon  the  aged 
that  the  battle  falls  hardly,  who  are  weakened  by  failing  health, 
and  perhaps  enervated  by  long  years  of  prosperity. 

Firmin's  broad  back  could  carry  a  heavy  burden,  and  he  was 
glad  to  take  all  the  work  which  fell  in  his  way.  Phipps,  of  the 
Daily  IntcUigcnccr,  wanting  an  assistant,  Philip  gladly  sold  four 
hours  of  his  day  to  Mr.  Phipps  :  translated  page  after  page  of 
newspapers,  I'rench  and  German  ;  took  an  occasional  turn  at 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  gave  an  account  of  a  sitting  of 


ON  Ills  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  371 

importance,  and  made  himself  quite  an  active  lieutenant.  He 
began  positively  to  save  money.  He  wore  dreadfully  shabby 
clothes,  to  be  sure:  for  Charlotte  could  not  go  to  his  chamber 
and  mend  his  rags  as  the  Little  Sister  had  done :  but  when 
Mrs.  Baynes  abused  him  for  his  shabby  appearance — and  indeed 
it  must  have  been  mortifying  sometimes  to  see  the  fellow  in  his 
old  clothes  swaggering  about  in  Madame  Smolensk's  apart- 
ments, talking  loud,  contradicting,  and  laying  down  the  law — 
Charlotte  defended  her  maligned  Philip.  "  Do  you  know  why 
Monsieur  Philip  has  those  shabby  clothes  .?  "  she  asked  of 
Madame  de  Smolensk.  "  Because  he  has  been  sending  money 
to  his  father  in  America."  And  Smolensk  said  that  Monsieur 
Philip  was  a  brave  young  man,  and  that  he  might  come  dressed 
like  an  Iroquois  to  her  soiree,  and  he  should  be  welcome.  And 
Mrs.  Baynes  was  rude  to  Philip  when  he  was  present,  and  scorn- 
ful in  her  remarks  when  he  was  absent.  And  Philip  trembled 
before  Mrs.  Baynes ;  and  he  took  her  boxes  on  the  ear  with 
much  meekness  ;  for  was  not  his  Charlotte  a  hostage  in  her 
mother's  hands,  and  might  not  Mrs,  General  B.  make  that  poor 
little  creature  suffer  ? 

One  or  two  Indian  ladies  of  Mrs.  Baynes'  acquaintance  hap- 
pened to  pass  this  winter  in  Paris,  and  these  persons,  who  had 
furnished  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  Si.  Honore',  or  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  rode  in  their  carriages  with  ter}'  likely,  a  footman  on 
the  box,  rather  looked  down  upon  Mrs.  Baj-nes  for  living  in  a 
boarding-house,  and  keeping  no  equipage.  No  woman  likes  to 
be  looked  down  upon  by  any  other  woman,  especially  by  such  a 
creature  as  Mrs.  Batters,  the  lawyer's  wife,  from  Calcutta,  who 
was  not  in  society,  and  did  not  go  to  Government  House,  and 
here  was  driving  about  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es,  and  giving  herself 
such  airs,  indeed!  So  was  INIrs.  Doctor  Macoon,  with  her 
lady s -maid,  and  her  fnan-cook,  and  her  oJ>en  carnage,  and  her 
close  carriage.  (Pray  read  these  words  with  the  most  withering 
emphasis  which  you  can  lay  upon  them.)  And  who  was  Mrs. 
Macoon,  pray  ?  Madame  Be'ret,  the  French  milliner's  daughter, 
neither  more  nor  less.  And  this  creature  must  scatter  her  mud 
over  her  betters  who  went  on  foot.  "  I  am  telling  my  poor 
girls,  madame,"  she  would  say  to  Madame  Smolensk,  "  that  if  I 
had  been  a  milliner's  girl,  or  their  father  had  been  a  pettifogging 
attorney,  and  not  a  soldier,  who  has  served  his  sovereign  in 
every  quarter  of  the  world,  they  would  be  better  dressed  than 
they  are  now,  poor  chicks  ! — we  might  have  a  fine  apartment 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore' — we  need  not  live  at  a  boarding- 
house." 


372 


THE  ADVKNTUKES  OF  PI/ /LIP 


"And  if  /had  been  a  milliner,  Madame  la  Gc'nc'rale,'  cried 
Smolensk,  with  spirit,  "perhaps  I  should  not  have  had  need  to 
keep  a  boarding-house.  My  father  was  a  general  officer,  and 
served  his  emperor  too.  But  what  will  you  ?  We  have  all  to 
do  disagreeable  things,  and  to  live  with  disagreeable  people, 
madame  ! "  And  with  this  Smolensk  makes  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  a  fine  curtsey,  and  goes  off  to  other  affairs  or  guests. 
She  was  of  the  opinion  of  many  of  Philip's  friends.  "Ah, 
Monsieur  Philip,"  she  said  to  him,  "when  you  are  married,  you 
will  live  far  from  that  woman  ;  is  it  not .''  " 

Hearing  that  Mrs.  Baiters  was  going  to  the  'I'uileries,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  a  violent  emulation  inspired  Mrs.  liaynes,  and  she 
never  was  easy  until  she  persuaded  her  General  to  take  her  to  the 
ambassador's  and  to  the  entertainments  of  the  citizen  king  who 
governed  France  in  those  days.  It  would  cost  little  or  nothing, 
Charlotte  must  be  brought  out.  Her  aunt,  MacWhirter,  from 
Tours,  had  sent  Charlotte  a  present  of  money  for  a  dress.  To 
do  Mrs.  ]>aynes  justice,  she  spent  very  little  money  upon  her 
own  raiment,  and  extracted  from  one  of  her  trunks  a  costume 
which  had  done  duty  at  Barrackpore  and  Calcutta.  "  After 
hearing  that  Mrs.  Batters  went,  I  knew  she  never  would  be 
easy,"  General  Baynes  said,  with  a  sigh.  His  wife  denied  the 
accustion  as  an  outrage  ;  said  that  men  always  imputed  the 
worst  motives  to  women,  w^hereas  her  wish,  heaven  knows,  was 
only  to  see  her  darling  child  properly  presented,  and  her  hus- 
band in  his  proper  rank  in  the  world.  And  Charlotte  looked 
lovely,  upon  the  evening  of  the  ball  ;  and  Madame  Smolensk 
dressed  Charlotte's  hair  very  prettily,  and  offered  to  lend 
Auguste  to  accompany  the  General's  carriage  ;  but  Ogoost  revolt- 
ed, and  said,  "  Non,  merci  1  he  would  do  anything  for  the  Gen- 
eral and  Miss  Charlotte — but  for  the  Genc'rale,  no,  no,  no  !  " 
and  he  made  signs  of  violent  abnegation.  And  though  Charlotte 
looked  as  sweet  as  a  rosebud,  she  had  little  pleasure  in  her  ball, 
Philip  not  being  present.  And  how  could  he  be  present,  who  had 
but  one  old  coat,  and  holes  in  his  boots  ? 

So  you  see,  after  a  sunny  autumn,  a  cold  winter  comes, 
when  the  wind  is  bad  for  delicate  chests  and  muddy  for  little 
shoes.  How  could  Charlotte  come  out  at  eight  o'clock  through 
mud  or  snow  of  a  winter's  morning,  if  she  had  been  out  at  an 
evening  party  late  over-night  ?  Mrs.  General  Baynes  began  to 
go  out  a  good  deal  to  the  Paris  evening  parties — I  mean  to  the 
parties  of  us  Trojans — parties  where  there  are  forty  luiglish 
people,  three  Frenchmen,  and  a  (lerman  who  plays  the  piano. 
Charlotte  was  very  much  admired.      The  fame  of  her  goocj 


01^  ins  WAY  THRO  UG It  THE  WORLD. 


in 


looks  spread  abroad.  I  promise  you  that  there  were  persons 
of  much  more  importance  than  the  poor  Vicomte  de  Garcoii' 
boutique,  who  were  charmed  by  her  bright  eyes,  her  bright  smiles, 
her  artless,  rosy  beauty.  Why,  little  Hely,  of  the  Embassy, 
actually  invited  himself  to  Mrs.  Doctor  Macoon's,  in  order  to 
see  this  young  beaut}^,  and  danced  with  her  without  ceasing  : 
Mr.  Hely,  who  was  the  pink  of  fashion,  you  know ;  who  danced 
with  roj-al  princesses  ;  and  w^as  at  all  the  grand  parties  of  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain.  He  saw  her  to  her  carriage  (a  very 
shabby  fl}',  it  must  be  confessed  ;  but  Mrs  Baynes  told  him  they 
had  been  accustomed  to  a  very  different  kind  of  equipage  in 
India).  He  actually  called  at  the  boarding-house,  and  left  his 
card,  AI.  Wahingham  Hely,  attache  a  V Ambassade  de  S.  M. 
Britaniiiqiie,  for  General  Baynes  and  liis  lady.  To  what  balls 
would  Mrs.  Baynes  like  to  go  ?  to  the  Tuileries  ?  to  the  Em- 
bassy ?  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  ?  to  the  Faubourg  St. 
Honore  ?  I  could  name  many  more  persons  of  distinction  who 
were  fascinated  by  pretty  Miss  Charlotte.  Her  mother  felt 
more  and  more  ashamed  of  the  shabby  fly,  in  which  our  young 
lady  was  conveyed  to  and  from  her  parties ; — of  the  shabby  fly, 
and  of  that  shabby  cavalier  who  was  waiting  sometimes  to  put 
Miss  Charlotte  into  her  carriage.  Charlotte's  mother's  ears 
were  only  too  acute  when  disparaging  remarks  were  made  about 
that  cavalier.  What  "i  engaged  to  that  queer  red-bearded 
fellow,  with  the  ragged  shirt-collars,  who  trod  upon  everybody 
in  the  polka  ?  A  newspaper  writer,  was  he  ?  The  son  of  that 
doctor  who  ran  away  after  cheating  everybody  .''  What  a  very 
odd  thing  of  General  Baynes  to  think  of  engaging  his  daughter 
to  such  a  person  ! 

So  Mr.  Firmin  was  not  asked  to  many  distinguished  houses, 
where  his  Charlotte  was  made  welcome  ;  where  there  was 
dancing  in  the  salon,  very  mild  negus  and  cakes  in  the 
sallc-d-manger,  and  cards  in  the  lady's  bedroom.  And  he  did 
not  care  to  be  asked  ;  and  he  made  himself  very  arrogant  and 
disagreeable  when  he  was  asked  ;  and  he  would  upset  tea-trays, 
and  burst  out  into  roars  of  laughter  at  all  times,  and  swagger 
about  the  drawing-room  as  if  he  were  a  man  of  importance — he 
indeed — giving  himself  such  airs,  because  his  grandfather's 
brother  was  an  earl  1  And  what  had  the  earl  done  for  him, 
pray  .''  And  what  right  had  he  to  burst  out  laughing  when 
Miss  Crackley  sang  a  little  out  of  tune  ?  What  could  General 
Baynes  mean  by  selecting  such  a  husband  for  that  nice,  modest 
young  girl  ? 

The  old  General  sitting  in  the  best  bedroom,  placidly  play- 


374  "^^^J^  ADVENTURES  OF  miLIP 

ing  at  whist  with  tlic  other  British  fogies,  does  not  hear  thesd 
remarks,  perhaps,  but  little  Mrs.  Baynes  with  her  eager  eyes 
and  ears  sees  and  knows  everything.  Many  people  have  told 
her  that  Philip  is  a  bad  match  for  her  daughter.  She  has  heard 
him  contradict  calmly  quite  wealthy  people.  Mr.  Hobday,  who 
has  a  house  in  Carlton  Terrace,  London,  and  goes  to  the  first 
houses  in  Paris,  Philip  has  contradicted  hini  point  blank,  until 
Mr.  Hobday  turned  quite  red,  and  Mrs.  Hobday  didn't  know 
where  to  look.  Mr.  Peplow,  a  clergyman  and  a  baronet's  eldest 
son,  who  will  be  one  day  the  Rev.  Sir  Charles  Peplow  of  Peplow 
Manor,  was  praising  Tomlinson's  poems,  and  offered  to  read 
them  out  at  Mr.  Badger's — he  reads  very  finely,  though  a  little 
perhaps  through  his  nose — and  when  he  was  going  to  begin, 
Mr.  Firmin  said,  'iJNIy  dear  Peplow,  for  heaven's  sake  don't 
give  us  any  of  that  rot.  I  would  as  soon  hear  one  of  your  own 
prize  poems."  Rot,  indeed  !  What  an  expression  !  Of  course 
Mr.  Peplow  was  very  much  annoyed.  And  this  from  a  mere 
newspaper  writer.  Never  heard  of  such  rudeness  !  Mrs.  Tuflin 
said  she  took  her  line  at  once  after  seeing  this  Mr.  Firmin. 
"  He  may  be  an  earl's  grand-nephew,  for  what  I  care.  He  may 
have  been  at  college,  he  has  not  learned  good  manners  there. 
He  may  be  clever,  I  don't  profess  to  be  a  judge.  But  he  is 
most  overbearing,  clumsy,  and  disagreeable.  I  shall  not  ask 
him  to  my  Tuesdays  ;  and  Emma,  if  he  asks  you  to  dance,  I  beg 
you  will  do  no  such  thing ! "  A  bull,  you  understand,  in  a 
meadow,  or  on  a  prairie  with  a  herd  of  other  buffaloes,  is  a  noble 
animal  :  but  a  bull  in  a  china-shop  is  out  of  place  ;  and  even 
so  was  Philip  amongst  the  crockery  of  those  little  simple  tea- 
parties,  where  his  mane,  and  hoofs,  and  roar,  caused  endless 
disturbance. 

These  remarks  concerning  the  accepted  son-in-law  Mrs. 
Baynes  heard  and,  at  proper  moments,  repeated.  She  ruled 
Baynes ;  but  was  very  cautious,  and  secretly  afraid  of  him. 
Once  or  twice  she  had  gone  too  far  in  her  dealings  with  the 
quiet  old  man,  and  he  had  revolted,  put  her  down  and  never 
forgiven  her.  Beyond  a  certain  point,  she  dared  not  provoke 
her  husband.  She  would  say,  "  Well,  Baynes,  marriage  is  a 
lottery-:  and  I  am  afraid  our  poor  Charlotte  has  not  pulled 
a  prize  :  "  on  which  the  General  would  reply,  "  No  more  have 
others,  my  dear !  "  and  so  drop  the  subject  for  the  time  being. 
On  another  occasion  it  would  be,  "  You  heard  how  rude  Philip 
Firmin  was  to  Mr.  Hobday  ?  "  and  the  General  would  answer, 
"  I  was  at  cards,  my  dear."  Again  she  might  say,  "  Mrs. 
Tuffin  says  she  will  not  have  Philip  Firmin  to  her  Tuesdays, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


375 


my  dear ; "  and  the  General's  rejoinder  would  be,  "  Begad, 
so  much  the  better  for  him!"  "Ah,"  she  groans,  "he's 
always  offending  some  one  1 "  "I  don't  think  he  seems  to 
please  you  much,  Eliza ! "  responds  the  General  :  and  she 
answers,  "  No,  he  don't,  and  that  1  confess ;  and  I  don't  like 
to  think,  Baynes,  of  my  sweet  child  given  up  to  certain  poverty, 
and  such  a  man  !  "  At  which  the  General  with  some  of  his 
garrison  phrases  would  break  out  with  a  "  Hang  it,  Eliza,  do 
you  suppose  I  think  it  is  a  very  good  match  ?  "  and  turn  to  the 
wall,  and,  I  hope,  to  skep. 

As  for  poor  little  Charlotte,  her  mother  is  not  afraid  of  little 
Charlotte  :  and  when  the  two  are  alone  the  poor  child  knows 
she  is  to  be  made  wretched  by  her  mother's  assaults  upon 
Philip.  Was  there  ever  anything  so  bad  as  his  behavior,  to 
burst  our  laughing  when  Miss  Crackley  was  singing?  Was  he 
called  upon  to  contradict  Sir  Charles  Peplow  in  that  abrupt 
way,  and  as  good  as  tell  him  he  was  a  fool  ?  It  was  very  wrong 
certainly,  and  poor  Charlotte  thinks,  with  a  blush  perhaps,  how 
she  was  just  at  the  point  of  admiring  Sir  Charles  Peplow's 
reading  very  much,  and  had  been  prepared  to  think  Tomlin- 
son's  poems  delightful,  until  Philip  ordered  her  to  adopt  a 
contemptuous  opinion  of  the  poet.  "  And  did  you  see  how 
he  was  dressed  ?  a  button  wanting  on  his  waistcoat,  and  a  hole 
in  his  boot  ?  " 

"  Mamma,"  cries  Charlotte,  turning  very  red.  "  He  might 
have  been  better  dressed — if — if " 

"  That  is,  you  would  like  your  own  father  to  be  in  prison, 
your  mother  to  beg  her  bread,  your  sisters  to  go  in  rags,  and 
your  brothers  to  starve,  Charlotte,  in  order  that  we  should  pay 
Philip  Firmin  back  the  money  of  which  his  father  robbed  him  ! 
Yes.  That's  your  meaning.  You  needn't  explain  yourself.  I 
can  understand  quite  well,  thank  you.  Good-night.  I  hope 
you'' 11  sleep  well ;  /sha'n't  after  this  conversation.  Good-night, 
Charlotte  !  "  Ah,  me.  O  course  of  true  love,  didst  thou  ever 
run  smooth  ?  As  we  peep  into  that  boarding-house  ;  whereof 
I  have  already  described  the  mistress  as  wakeful  with  racking 
care  regarding  the  morrow  ;  wherein  lie  the  Miss  Bolderos,  who 
must  naturally  be  very  uncomfortable,  being  on  sufferance  and 
as  it  were  in  pain,  as  they  lie  on  their  beds ; — what  sorrows  do 
we  not  perceive  brooding  over  the  nightcaps  .-"  There  is  poor 
Charlotte  who  has  said  her  prayer  for  her  Philip  ;  and  as  she 
lays  her  young  eyes  on  the  pillow,  they  wet  it  with  their  tears. 
Why  does  her  mother  for  ever  and  for  ever  speak  against  him  ? 
Why  is  her  fath«ir  s^  -^W  when  Philip's  name  is  mentioned  ? 


376  THE  A  D I  'ENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Could  Charlotte  ever  tliink  of  any  but  him  ?  Oh,  never,  never  1 
And  so  the  wet  eyes  are  veiled  at  last ;  and  close  in  doubt  and 
fear  and  care.  And  in  the  next  room  to  Charlotte's,  a  little 
yellow  old  woman  lies  stark  awake  ;  and  in  the  bed  by  her  side 
an  old  gentleman  can't  close  his  eyes  for  thinking — my  poor 
girl  is  promised  to  a  beggar.  All  the  fine  hopes  which  we  had 
of  his  getting  a  legacy  from  that  lord  are  over.  Poor  child, 
poor  child, what  will  become  of  her  ? 

Now,  Two  Sticks,  let  us  fly  over  the  river  Seine  to  Mr. 
Philip  Firmin's  quarters :  to  Philip's  house,  who  has  not  got  a 
penny  ;  to  Philip's  bed,  who  has  made  himself  so  rude  and 
disagreeable  at  that  tea-party.  He  has  no  idea  that  he  has 
offended  anybody.  He  has  gone  home  perfectly  well  pleased. 
He  has  kicked  off  the  tattered  boot.  He  has  found  a  little  fire 
lingering  in  his  stove  by  which  he  has  smoked  the  pipe  of 
thought.  Ere  he  has  jumped  into  his  bed  he  has  knelt  a 
moment  beside  it ;  and  with  all  his  heart — oh  !  with  all  his 
heart  and  soul — has  committed  the  dearest  one  to  heaven's 
loving  protection  !     And  now  he  sleeps  like  a  child. 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 

IN   WHICH    WE   STILL    HOVER   ABOUT  THE    ELYSIAN  FIELDS. 

The  describer  and  biographer  of  my  friend  Mr.  Philip  Fir- 
min  has  tried  to  extenuate  nothing  ;  and,  I  hope,  has  set  down 
naught  in  malice.  If  Philip's  boots  had  holes  in  them,  I  have 
written  that  he  had  holes  in  his  boots.  If  he  had  a  red  beard, 
there  it  is  red  in  this  story.  I  might  have  oiled  it  with  a  tinge 
of  brown,  and  painted  it  a  rich  auburn.  Towards  modest 
people  he  was  very  gentle  and  tender  ;  but  I  must  own  that  in 
general  society  he  was  not  always  an  agreeable  companion.  He 
was  often  haughty  and  arrogant  :  he  was  impatient  of  old 
stories  :  he  was  intolerant  of  commonplaces.  Mrs.  Paynes' 
anecdotes  of  her  garrison  experiences  in  India  and  Europe  got 
a  very  impatient  hearing  from  Mr.  Philip  ;  and  though  little 
Charlotte  gently  remonstrated  with  him,  saying,  "  Do,  do  let 
mamma  tell  her  story  out ;  and  don't  turn  away  and  talk  about 
something  else  in  the  midst  of  it  ;  and  don't  tell  her  you  have 
heard  the  story  before,  you  rude  man  !  If  she  is  not  pleased 
with  you,  she  is  angry  with  me,  and  I  have  to  suffer  when  you 


ON  ins  \VA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


Z11 


are  gone  away."  Miss  Charlotte  did  not  say  how  niucli  she 
had  to  suffer  when  Philip  was  absent ;  how  constantly  her 
mother  found  fault  with  him  ;  what  a  sad  life,  in  consequence  of 
her  attachment  to  him,  the  young  maiden  had  to  lead  ;  and  I 
fear  that  clumsy  I'hiliiD,  in  his  selfish  thoughtlessness,  did  not 
take  enough  count  of  the  sufferings  which  his  behavior  brought 
on  the  girl.  You  see  I  am  acknowledging  that  there  were  many 
faults  on  his  side,  which,  perhaps,  may  in  some  degree  excuse 
or  account  for  those  which  Mrs.  General  Baynes  certainly  com- 
mitted towards  him.  She  did  not  love  Philip  naturally  ;  and 
do  you  suppose  she  loved  him  because  she  was  under  great 
obligations  to  him  ?  Do  you  love  your  creditor  because  you 
owe  him  more  than  you  can  ever  pay  ?  If  I  never  paid  my 
tailor,  should  I  be  on  good  terms  with  him  ?  I  might  go  on 
ordering  suits  of  clothes  from  now  to  the  year  nineteen  hundred  ; 
but  I  should  hate  him  worse  year  after  year.  I  should  find 
fault  with  his  cut  and  his  cloth  :  I  dare  say  I  should  end  by 
thinking  his  bills  extortionate,  though  I  never  paid  them. 
Kindness  is  very  indigestible.  Ft  disagrees  with  very  proud 
stomachs.  I  wonder  was  that  traveller  who  fell  among  the 
thieves  grateful  afterwards  to  the  Samaritan  who  rescued 
him?  He  gave  money  certainly  ;  but  he  did  not  miss  it.  The 
religious   opinions  of    Samaritans   are   lamentably   heterodox. 

0  brother  !  may  ^  help  the  fallen  still  though  they  never  pay 
us,  and  may  we  lend  without  exacting  the  usury  of  gratitude  ! 

Of  this  I  am  determined,  that  whenever  I  go  courting  again, 

1  will  not  pay  my  addresses  to  my  dear  creature — day  after 
day,  and  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  very  likely,  with  the 
dear  girl's  mother,  father,  and  half-a-dozen  young  brothers  and 
sisters  in  the  room.  I  shall  begin  by  being  civil  to  the  old 
lady,  of  course.  She  is  flattered  at  first  by  having  a  young 
fellow  coming  courting  to  her  daughter.  She  calls  me  "  dear 
Edward;"  works  me  a  pair  of  braces  ;  writes  to  mamma  and 
sisters,  and  so  forth.  Old  gentleman  says,  "  Brown,  mv  boy" 
(I  am  here  fondly  imagining  r.nself  to  be  a  young  fellow  named 
Edward  Brown,  attached,  let  us  say,  to  Miss  Kate  Thompson) 
— Thompson,  I  say,  says,  "  Brown,  my  boy,  come  to  dinner  at 
seven.  Cover  laid  for  you  always."  And  of  course,  delicious 
thought !  that  cover  is  by  dearest  Kate's  side.  But  the  dinner 
is  bad  sometimes.  Sometimes  I  come  late.  Sometimes  things 
are  going  badly  in  the  City.  Sometimes  Mrs.  Thompson  is  out 
of  humor  ; — she  always  thought  Kate  might  have  done  better 
And  in  the  midst  of  these  doubts  and  delays,  suppose  Jones 
appears,  who  is  older,  but  of  a  better  temper,  a  better  family, 


«7S  ^^-^^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

and — plaj^Lie  on  liim  ! — twice  as  rich?  What  are  engagements? 
Wliat  are  promises  ?  It  is  sometimes  an  affectionate  mother's 
DUTY  to  break  lier  promise,  and  that  duty  the  resolute  matron 
will  do. 

Then  Edward  is  Edward  no  more,  but  Mr.  Erown  ;  or,  worse 
still,  nan)eless  in  the  liouse.  Then  the  knife  and  fork  are  re- 
moved from  poor  Kate's  side,  and  she  swallows  her  own  sad 
meal  in  tears.  Then  if  one  of  the  little  Thompsons  says,  art- 
lessly, "  Papa,  I  met  Teddy  Brown  in  Regent  Street ;  he  looked 

so   "       ''  Hold   your    tongue,    unfeeling   wretch  !  "    cries 

mamma.  "  Look  at  that  dear  child  !  "  Kate  is  swooning.  She 
has  sal-volatil€.  The  medical  man  is  sent  for.  And  presently 
— Charles  Jones  is  taking  Kate  Thompson  to  dinner.  Long 
voyages  are  dangerous  ;  so  are  long  courtships.  In  long 
voyages  passengers  perpetually  quarrel  (for  that  Mrs.  General 
could  vouch)  ;  in  long  courtships  the  same  danger  exists ;  and 
how  much  the  more  when  in  that  latter  ship  you  have  a  mother 
who  is  for  ever  putting  in  her  oar  !  And  then  to  think  of  the  an- 
noyance of  that  love  voyage  when  you  and  the  beloved  and  be- 
loved's papa,  mamma,  half-a-dozen  brothers  and  sisters,  are  all 
in  one  cabin  !  For  economy's  sake  the  Ilayneses  had  no  sitting- 
room  at  Madame's — for  you  could  not  call  that  room  on  the 
second  floor  a  sitting-room  which  had  two  beds  in  it,  and  in 
which  the  young  ones  practised  the  piano,  AU^h  poor  Charlotte 
as  their  mistress.  Philip's  courting  had  to  lake  place  for  the 
most  part  before  the  whole  family  ;  and  to  make  love  under 
such,  difficulties  would  have  been  horrible  and  maddening  and 
impossible  almost,  only  we  have  admitted  that  our  young  friends 
had  little  walks  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es  ;  and  then  you  must 
own  that  it  must  have  been  delightful  for  them  to  write  each 
other  perpetual  little  notes,  which  were  delivered  occultly  under 
the  very  nose  of  papa  and  mamma,  and  in  the  actual  presence  of 
the  other  boarders  at  Madame's,  who,  of  course,  never  saw  any- 
thing that  was  going  on.  Yes,  those  sly  monkeys  actually  made 
little  post-offices  about  the  room.  There  was,  for  instance,  the 
clock  on  the  mantel-piece  in  the  salon  on  which  was  carved  the 
old  French  allegory,  ''Z^  temps  fait  passer  ratnour.''''  One  of 
those  artful  young  people  would  pop  a  note  into  Time's  boat, 
where  you  may  be  sure  no  one  saw  it.  The  trictrac  board  was 
another  post-office.  So  was  the  drawer  of  the  music-stand.  So 
was  the  Sevres  china  flower-pot,  (S:c.,  &c. ;  to  each  of  which 
repositories  in  its  turn  the  lovers  confided  the  delicious  secrets 
of  their  wooing. 

Have  you  ever  looked  at  your  love-letters  to  Darby,  when 


ON-  ins  ]VA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  3^9 

you  were  courting,  clear  Joan  ?  They  are  sacred  pages  to  read. 
You  have  his  tied  up  somewhere  in  a  faded  ribbon.  You  scarce 
need  spectacles  as  you  look  at  them.  The  hair  grows  black  ; 
the  eyes  moisten  and  brighten  ;  the  cheeks  fill  and  blush  again. 
I  protest  there  is  nothing  so  beautiful  as  Darby  and  Joan  in  the 
world.  I  hope  Philip  and  his  wife  will  be  Darby  and  Joan  to 
the  end.  I  tell  you  they  are  married  ;  and  don't  want  to  make 
any  mysteries  about  the  business.  I  disdain  that  sort  of  artifice. 
In  the  days  of  the  old  three-volume  novels,  didn't  you  always 
look  at  the  end,  to  see  that  Louisa  and  the  earl  (or  young 
clergyman  as  the  case  might  be)  were  happy.  If  they  died,  or 
met  with  other  grief,  for  my  part  I  put  the  book  away.  This 
pair,  then,  are  well ;  are  married  ;  are,  I  trust,  happy  ;  but 
before  they  married,  and  afterwards,  they  had  great  griefs  and 
troubles,  as  no  doubt  you  have  had,  dear  sir  or  madam,  since 
you  underwent  that  ceremony.  Married  ?  Of  course  they  are. 
Do  you  suppose  I  would  have  allowed  little  Charlotte  to  meet 
Philip  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es  with  only  a  giddy  little  boy  of  a 
brother  for  a  companion,  who  would  turn  away  to  see  Punch, 
Guignol,  the  soldiers  marching  by,  the  old  woman's  gingerbread 
and  toffy  stall  and  so  forth  ?  Do  you,  I  say,  suppose  I  would 
have  allowed  those  two  to  go  out  together,  unless  they  were  to 
be  married  afterwards  ?  Out  walking  together  they  did  go ; 
and  once,  as  they  were  arm-in-arm  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es, 
whom  should  they  see  in  a  fine  open  carriage  but  young  Twys- 
den  and  Captain  and  Mrs.  Woolconib,  to  whom,  as  they  passed, 
Philip  doffed  his  hat  with  a  profound  bow,  and  whom  he 
further  saluted  with  a  roar  of  immense  laughter.  Woolcomb 
must  have  heard  the  peal.  I  dare  say  it  brought  a  little  blush 
into  Mrs.  Woolcomb's  cheek  ;  and — so,  no  doubt,  added  to  the 
many  attractions  of  that  elegant  lady.  I  have  no  secrets  about 
my  characters,  and  speak  my  mind  about  them  quite  freely. 
They  said  that  Woolcomb  was  the  most  jealous,  stingy,  ostenta- 
tious, cruel  little  brute  ;  that  he  led  his  wife  a  dismal  life. 
Well,  if  he  did  I  I'm  sure  I  don't  care.  "There  is  that 
swaggering  bankrupt  beggar  Firmin  !  "  cries  the  tawny  bride- 
groom, biting  his  mustache.  "  Impudent  ragged  blackguard," 
says  Twysden  minor,    '  I  saw  him." 

"  Hadn't  you  better  stop  the  carriage,  and  abuse  him  to 
himself,  and  not  to  me  ? "  says  Mrs.  Woolcomb,  languidl)^ 
flinging  herself  back  on  her  cushions. 

"  Go  on,  hang  you  !  Ally  !  Vite  !  "  cry  the  gentlemen  in 
the  carriage  to  the  laquais  de place  on  the  box. 

"  I  can  fancy  you  don't  care  about  seeing  him,"  resumes 


380  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILir 

Mrs.  Woolcomb.  "  He  has  a  violent  temper,  and  I  would  not 
have  you  quarrel  for  the  world."  So  1  suppose  Woolcomb 
again  swears  at  the  laquais  de place :  and  the  liappy  couple,  as 
the  saying  is,  roll  away  to  the  Lois  de  Boulogne, 

"What  makes  you  laugh  so  ?  "  says  little  Charlotte,  fondly, 
as  she  trips  along  by  her  lover's  side. 

"  Tlecause  I  am  so  happy,  my  dearest ! "  says  the  other, 
squeezing  to  his  heart  the  little  hand  that  lies  on  his  arm.  As 
he  thinks  on  yonder  woman,  and  then  looks  into  the  pure  eagei 
face  of  the  sweet  girl  beside  him,  the  scornful  laughter  occa- 
sioned by  the  sudden  meeting  which  is  just  over  hushes  ;  and 
an  immense  feeling  of  thankfulness  fills  the  breast  of  the  young 
man  : — thankfulness  for  the  danger  from  which  he  has  escaped, 
and  for  the  blessed  prize  which  has  fallen  to  him. 

But  Mr.  Philip's  walks  were  not  to  be  all  as  pleasant  as 
this  walk  ;  and  we  are  now  coming  to  a  history  of  wet,  slippery 
roads,  bad  times,  and  winter  weather.  All  I  can  promise  about 
this  gloomy  part  is,  that  it  shall  not  be  a  long  story.  You  will 
acknowledge  we  made  very  short  work  with  the  love-making, 
which  I  give  you  my  word  I  consider  to  be  the  very  easiest 
part  of  the  novel-writer's  business.  As  those  rapturous  scenes 
between  the  captain  and  the  heroine  are  going  on,  a  writer  who 
knows  his  business  maybe  thinking  about  anything  else — about 
the  ensuing  chapter,  or  about  what  he  is  going  to  having  for  din- 
ner, or  what  you  will ;  therefore,  as  we  passed  over  the  raptures 
and  joys  of  the  courting  so  very  curtly,  you  must  please  to  gratify 
me  by  taking  the  grief  in  a  very  short  measure.  If  our  young 
people  are  going  to  suffer,  let  the  pain  be  soon  over.  "  Sit  down 
in  the  chair.  Miss  I^aynes,  if  you  please,  and  you,  Mr.  Firm  in,  in 
this.  Allow  me  to  examine  you  ;  just  open  your  mouth,  if  you 
please;  and — oh,  oh,  my  clear  miss — there  it  is  out!  A  little 
eau-de-Cologne  and  water,  my  dear.  And  now,  Mr.  Firmin,  if  you 
please,  we  will — what  fangs  !  what  a  big  one  !  Two  guineas. 
Thank  you.  Good-morning.  Come  tome  once  a  year.  John, show 
in  the  next  party."  About  the  ensuing  jDainful  business,  then, 
I  protest  I  don't  intend  to  be  much  longer  occupied  than  the 
humane  and  dexterous  operator  to  whom  I  have  made  so  bold 
as  to  liken  myself.  If  my  pretty  Charlotte  is  to  have  a  tooth 
out,  it  shall  be  removed  as  gently  as  possible,  poor  dear.  As 
for  Philip,  and  his  great  red-bearded  jaw,  I  don't  care  so  much 
if  the  tug  makes  him  roar  a  little.  And  yet  they  remain,  they 
remain  and  throb  in  after  life,  those  wounds  of  early  days. 
Plave  I  not  said  how,  as  I  chanced  to  walk  with  Mr,  Firmin  in 
Paris,  many    years    after    the    domestic    circumstances    here 


ON  Ills  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  381 

recorded,  lie  paused  before  the  window  of  that  liouse  near  the 
Champs  Elyse'es  where  Madame  Smolensk  once  held  her  pen- 
sion,  shook  his  fist  at  ^Jalousie  of  the  now  dingy  and  dilapidated 
mansion,  and  intimated  to  me  that  he  had  undergone  severe 
sufferings  in  tlie  chamber  lighted  by  yonder  window  ?  So  have 
we  all  suffered ;  so,  very  likely,  my  dear  young  miss  or  master 
who  peruses  this  modest  page,  will  you  have  to  suffer  in  your 
time.  You  will  not  die  of  the  operation,  most  probably :  but  it 
is  painful  :  it  makes  a  gap  in  the  mouth,  voycz-vous  ?  and  years 
and  years,  maybe,  after,  as  you  think  of  it,  the  smart  is  renewed, 
and  the  dismal  tragedy  enacts  itself  over  again. 

Philip  liked  his  little  maiden  to  go  out,  to  dance,  to  laugh, 
to  be  admired,  to  be  happy.  In  her  artless  way  she  told  him 
of  her  balls,  her  tea-parties,  her  pleasures,  her  partners.  In  a 
girl's  first  little  season  nothing  escapes  her.  Have  you  not 
wondered  to  hear  them  tell  about  the  events  of  the  evening, 
about  the  dresses  of  the  dowagers,  about  the  compliments  of 
the  young  men,  about  the  behavior  of  the  girls,  and  what  not  ? 

Little  Charlotte  used  to  enact  the  over-night's  comedy  for 
Philip,  pouring  out  her  young  heart  in  her  prattle  as  her  little 
feet  skipped  by  his  side.  And  to  hear  Philip  roar  with  laughter  ! 
It  would  have  done  you  good.  You  might  have  heard  him 
from  the  Obelisk  to  the  Etoile.  People  turned  round  to  look 
at  him,  and  shrugged  their  shoulders  wonderingly,  as  good- 
natured  French  folks  will  do.  How  could  a  man  who  had 
been  lately  ruined,  a  man  who  had  just  been  disappointed  of  a 
great  legacy  from  the  Earl  his  great-uncle,  a  man  whose  boots 
were  in  that  lamentable  condition,  laugh  so,  and  ha\-e  such  high 
spirits?  To  think  of  such  an  impudent  ragged  blackguard, 
as  Ringwood  Twysden  called  his  cousin,  daring  to  be  happy  ! 
The  fact  is,  that  clap  of  laughter  smote  those  three  Twysden 
people  like  three  boxes  on  the  ear,  and  made  all  their  cheeks 
tingle  and  blush  at  once.  At  Philip's  merriment  clouds  which 
had  come  over  Charlotte's  sweet  face  would  be  chased  away. 
As  she  clung  to  him  doubts  which  throbbed  at  the  girl's  heart 
would  vanish.  When  she  was  acting  those  scenes  of  the  past 
night's  entertainment,  she  was  not  always  happy.  As  she 
talked  and  prattled,  her  own  spirits  would  rise  ;  and  hope  and 
natural  joy  would  spring  in  her  heart  again,  and  come  flushing 
up  to  her  cheek.  Charlotte  was  being  a  hypocrite,  as,  thank 
heaven,  all  good  women  sometimes  are.  She  had  griefs  :  she 
hid  them  from  him.  She  had  doubts  and  fears  :  they  fled  when 
he  came  in  view,  and  she  clung  to  his  strong  arm,  and  looked 
jn  hjs  honest  blue  eyes.     She  did  not  tell  him  of  those  painfu) 


282  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

nights  when  her  eyes  were  wakeful  and  tearful.  A  yellow  old 
woman  in  a  white  jacket,  with  a  nightcap  and  a  night-light, 
would  come,  night  after  night,  to  the  side  of  her  little  bed  ; 
and  there  stand,  and  with  her  grim  voice  bark  against  Philip. 
That  old  woman's  lean  finger  would  point  to  all  the  rents  in 
poor  Philip's  threadbare  paletot  of  a  character — point  to  the 
holes  and  tear  them  wider  open.  She  would  stamp  on  those 
muddy  boots.  She  would  throw  up  her  peaked  nose  at  the  idea 
'A  the  poor  fellow's  pipe, — his  pipe,  his  great  companion  and 
comforter  when  his  dear  little  mistress  was  away.  She  would 
discourse  on  the  partners  of  the  night ;  the  evident  attentions 
of  this  gentleman,  the  politeness  and  high  breeding  of  that. 

And  when  that  dreary  nightly  torture  was  over,  and  Char- 
lotte's mother  had  left  the  poor  child  to  herself,  sometimes 
Madame  Smolensk,  sitting  up  over  her  ledgers  and  bills,  and 
wakeful  with  her  own  cares,  would  steal  up  and  console  poor 
Charlotte  ;  and  bring  her  some  tisane,  excellent  for  the  nerves  ; 
and  talk  to  her  about — about  the  subject  of  which  Charlotte 
best  liked  to  hear.  And  though  Smolensk  was  civil  to  Mrs. 
Paynes  in  the  morning,  as  her  professional  duty  obliged  her  to 
be,  she  has  owned  that  she  often  felt  a  desire  to  strangle  Mad- 
ame la  Gt'ne'rale  for  her  conduct  to  her  little  angel  of  a  daughter  ; 
and  all  because  Monsieur  Philippe  smells  the  pipe,  parbleu  ! 
•'  What .''  a  family  that  owes  you  the  bread  which  they  eat ;  and 
they  draw  back  for  a  pipe  !  The  cowards,  the  cowards  !  A 
soldier's  daughter  is  not  afraid  of  it.  Merci  !  Tenez,  M. 
Philippe,"  she  said  to  our  friend  when  matters  came  to  an 
extremity.  "  Do  you  know  what  in  your  place  I  would  do  ?  To 
a  Frenchman  I  would  not  say  so  ;  that  understands  itself.  But 
these  things  make  themselves  otherwise  in  England.  1  have  no 
money,  but  I  have  a  cachemire.  Take  him  ;  and  if  I  were  you, 
I  would  make  a  little  voyage  to  Gretna  Grin." 

And  now,  if  you  please,  we  will  quit  the  Champs  Elysees. 
We  will  cross  the  road  from  Madame's  boarding-house.  We 
will  make  our  way  into  the  Faubourg  St.  Honoro,  and  actually 
enter  a  gate  over  which  the  L-on,  the  Un-c-rn,  and  the  R-y-1 
Cr-wn  and  A -ms  of  the  Three  K-ngd-ms  are  sculptured,  and 
going  under  the  porte-cochere,  and  turning  to  the  right,  ascend 
a  little  stair,  and  ask  of  the  attendant  on  the  landing  who  is 
in  the  chancellerie  ?  The  attendant  says,  that  several  of  those 
vH'ssicurs  y  sonf.  In  fact,  on  entering  the  room,  you  find  Mr. 
Montcomb, — let  us  say — Mr.  Lawndes,  Mr.  Halkin,  and  our 
young  friend  Mr.  Walsingham  Hely,  seated  at  their  respective 
tables  in  the  midst  of  considerable  smoke.     Smoking  in  tho 


OxV  IfIS  WAV  ril ROUGH  THE   WORLD.  383 

midst  of  these  gentlemen,  and  bestriding  his  chair,  as  though  it 
were  his  horse,  sits  tliat  gallant  young, Irish  chiefiian,  The 
O'Rourke.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  are  copying,  in  a  large  hand- 
writing, despatches  on  foolscap  paper.  I  would  rather  be  torn 
to  pieces  by  O'Rourke's  wildest  horses,  than  be  understood  to 
hint  at  what  those  despatches,  at  what  those  despatch-boxes 
contain.  Perhaps  they  contain  some  news  from  the  Court  of 
Spain,  where  some  intrigues  are  caiTied  on,  a  knowledge  of 
which  would  make  your  hair  start  off  your  head  ;  perhaps  that 
box,  for  which  a  messenger  is  waiting  in  a  neighboring  apart- 
ment, has  locked  up  twenty-four  yards  of  Chantilly  lace  for  Lady 
Belweather,  and  six  new  French  farces  for  Tom  Tiddler  of  the 
Foreign  Office,  who  is  mad  about  the  theatre.  It  is  years  and 
years  ago  ;  how  should  I  know  what  there  is  in  those  despatch- 
boxes  ? 

But  the  work,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  not  very  pressing — for 
there  is  only  Mr.  Chesham — did  I  say  Chesham  before,  by  the 
way  ?  You  may  call  him  Mr.  Sloanestreet  if  you  like.  There 
is  only  Chesham  (and  he  always  takes  things  to  the  grand 
serious)  wdio  seems  to  be  much  engaged  in  writing  ;  and  the 
conversation  goes  on. 

"  Who  gave  it .-'  "  asks  Montcomb. 

"  The  black  man,  of  course,  gave  it.  We  would  not  pretend 
to  compete  with  such  a  long  purse  as  his.  You  should  have 
seen  what  faces  he  made  at  the  bill  I  Thirty  francs  a  bottle  for 
Rhine  wine.  He  grinned  with  the  most  horrible  agony  when 
he  read  the  addition.  He  almost  turned  yellow.  He  sent 
away  his  wife  early.  How  long  that  girl  was  hanging  about 
London  ;  and  think  of  her  hooking  a  millionaire  at  last  ! 
Othello  is  a  frightful  screw,  and  diabolically  jealous  of  his  wife." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  little  man  who  got  so  dismally 
drunk,  and  began  to  cry  about  old  Ringwood  ?  " 

"  Twysden — the  woman's  brother.  Don't  you  know  Hum- 
bug Twysden,  the  father  ?  The  youth  is  more  offensive  than 
the  parent." 

"  A  most  disgusting  little--  beast.  Would  come  to  the 
Variete's,  because  we  said  we  were  going  :  would  go  to  Lamoig- 
non's,  where  the  Russians  gave  a  dance  and  a  lansquenet. 
Why  didn't  you  come,  Hely  ?  " 

Mr.  Hdy.—\  tell  you  I  hate  the  whole  thing.  Those 
painted  old  actresses  give  me  the  horrors.  What  do  I  want 
with  winning  Montcomb's  money  who  hasn't  got  any?  Do  you 
think  it  gives  me  any  pleasure  to  dance  with  old  Caradol  ?  She 
puts  jne  in  mind  of  my  grandmother — only  she  is  older.     Do 


3S4 


THE  ADVExYTURES  OF  PHILIP 


you  think  I  want  to  go  and  see  that  insane  old  BoutzofT  leering 
at  Corinne  and  Palmyrine,  and  making  a  group  of  three  old 
women  together  !  I  wonder  how  you  fellows  can  go  on.  Aren't 
you  tired  of  truffles  and  ccrevisses  c\  la  Eordelaise ;  and  those 
old  opera  people,  whose  withered  old  carcases  are  stuffed  with 
them  ? 

The  GR. — There  was  Ce'risette,  1  give  ye  me  honor.  Ye 
never  saw.     She  fell  asleep  in  her  cheer 

Mr.  Lowjides. — in  her  liwJiat,  O'R. .'' 

The  O'R — Well,  in  her  chair  then  !  And  Figaroff  smayred 
her  feece  all  over  with  the  craym  out  of  a  Charlotte  Roose. 
She's  a  regular  bird  and  mustache,  you  know,  Ce'risette  has. 

Mr.  ^t'/)'.— Charlotte,  Charlotte  !  Oh  !  {He  clutches  his 
hair  madly.     His  elbows  are  on  the  table?) 

Mr.  Lotuiides. — It's  that  girl  he  meets  at  the  tea-parties, 
where  he  goes  to  be  admired. 

Mr.  Hely. — It  is  better  to  drink  tea  than,  like  you  fellows, 
to  muddle  what  brains  you  have  with  bad  champagne.  It  is 
better  to  look,  and  to  hear,  and  to  see,  and  to  dance  with  a 
modest  girl,  than,  like  you  fellows,  to  be  capering  about  in 
taverns  with  painted  old  hags  like  that  old  Ce'risette,  who  has 
got  a  face  like  a  pomtne  cuite,  and  who  danced  before  Lord 
Malmesbury  at  the  Peace  of  Amiens.  She  did,  I  tell  you  ;  and 
before  Napoleon. 

Mr.  Chcsham. — {Looks  up  from  his  writing^ — There  was  no 
Napoleon  then.     It  is  of  no  consequence,  but 

Loivndes. — Thank  you,  I  owe  you  one.  You're  a  most 
valuable  man,  Chesham,  and  a  credit  to  your  father  and 
mother. 

Mr.  Chesham. — Well,  the  First  Consul  was  Bonaparte. 

Lowjules. — I  am  obliged  to  you.  I  say  I  am  obliged  to  you, 
Chesham,  and  if  you  would  like  any  refreshment  order  it  meis 
sumptibi/s,  old  boy — at  my  expense. 

Chesham. — These  fellows  will  never  be  serious.  {Heresiwics 
his  tvritijig.) 

Hely. — {Iteriim,  but  vciy  low) — Oh,  Charlotte,  Char ^ 

Mr,  Lowndes. — Hely  is  raving  about  that  girl — that  girl  with 
the  horrible  old  mother  in  yellow,  don't  you  remember?  and 
old  father — good  old  military  party,  in  a  shabby  old  coat — who 
was  at  the  last  ball.  What  was  the  name  ?  O'Rourke,  what  is 
the  rhyme  for  Baynes  ? 

The  O'R — Rays,  and  be  hanged  to  you.  You're  always 
niakin'  fun  on  me,  you  little  cockney  ! 

Mr.  Montcomb, — Hely  was  just  as  bad  about  the  Danish 


ON  HIS  \VA  Y  T/IKOUGII  THE   \10RLD. 


385 


girl.  Vou  know,  VValse,  you  composed  ever  so  many  verses  to 
her,  and  wrote  home  to  your  mother  to  ask.  leave  to  marry  her! 

The  O' R. — I'd  think  him  big  enough  to  marry  without  any- 
body's leave — only  they  wouldn't  have  him  because  he's  so  ugly. 

Mr.  Hely. — Very  good,  O'Rourke.  Very  neat  and  good. 
You  were  diverting  the  company  with  an  anecdote.  Will  you 
proceed  t 

The  O'R. — Well,  then,  the  Cerisette  had  been  dancing  both 
on  and  off  the  stage  till  she  was  dead  tired,  1  suppose,  and  so 
she  fell  dead  asleep,  and  Figaroff,  taking  the  what-d'ye-call-'im 
out  of  the  Charlotte  Roose,  smavred  her  face  all 

Voice  tvithont. — Deet  Mosho  Ringwood  Twysden,  sivoplay, 
poor  I'honorable  Moshoo  Lownds  ! 

Servixnt. — Monsieur  Twysden  ! 

Mr.  Twysden. — Mr.  Lowndes,  how  are  you  ? 

Mr.  Lowndes. — Very  well,  thank  you  ;  how  are  you  ? 

Mr.  Hely. — Lowndes  is  uncommonly  brilliant  to-day. 

Mr.  Iwysden. — Not  the  worse  for  last  night  ?  Some  of  us 
were  a  little  elevated,  I  think  ! 

Mr.  Lowndes. — Some  of  us  quite  the  reverse.  (Little  cad, 
what  does  he  want }     Elevated  !  he  couldn't  keep  his  little  legs !) 

Mr.  Twysden  — Eh  !  Smoking,  I  see.  Thank  you.  I  very 
seldom  do — but  as  you  are  so  kind — puff.  Eh — uncommonly 
handsome  person  that,  eh — Madame  Cerisette. 

The  OR. — Thank  ye  for  telling  us. 

Mr.  Lowndes. — If  she  meets  with  jwirr  applause,  Mr.  Twys- 
den, I  should  think  Mademoiselle  Ce'risette  is  all  right. 

The  O'R. — Maybe  they'd  raise  her  salary  if  ye  told  her. 

Mr.  Twysden. — Heh — I  see  you're  chaffing  me.  We  have 
a  good  deal  of  that  kind  of  thing  in  Somerset — in  our — in — 
hem  !  This  tobacco  is  a  little  strong.  I  am  a  little  shaky  this 
morning.  Who,  by  the  way,  is  that  Prince  Boutzoff  who  played 
lansquenet  with  us  ?  Is  he  one  of  the  Livonian  Boutzoffs,  or 
one  of  the  Hessian  Boutzoffs  ?  I  remember  at  my  poor  uncle's. 
Lord  Ringwood,  meeting  a  Prince  Blucher  de  Boutzoff,  some- 
thing like  this  man,  by  the  way.     You  knew  my  poor  uncle  t 

Mr.  Lowndes. — Dined  with  him  here  three  months  ago  at 
the  "  Trois  Freres." 

Mr.  Twysden. — Been  at  Whipham,  I  dare  say?  I  was  bred 
up  there.  It  was  said  once  that  I  was  to  have  been  his  heir. 
He  was  very  fond  of  me.     He  was  my  godfather. 

The  OR. — Then  he  gave  you  a  mug,  and  it  wasn't  a  beauty 
{sotto  voce). 

Mr.    Twysden. — You  said   somethin'  ?     I   was  speaking  of 

25 


386  THh   ADVEA'TURES  OF  PJ/JLJP 

Whipham,  Mr.  Lowndes — one  of  the  finest  places  \\\  England, 
I  should  say,  except  Chatsworth,  you  know,  and  thai  sort  of 
thing.  My  grandfather  built  it — I  mean  my  great  grandfather, 
for  I'm  of  the  Ringwood  family. 

Mr.  Lotvndcs. — Then  was  Lord  Ringwood  your  grandfather, 
or  your  grand  godfather  ? 

Mr.  Iwysden. — He  !  he  !  My  mother  was  his  own  niece. 
My  grandfather  was  his  own  brother,  and  I  am 

Mr.  Lowndes. — Thank  you.     I  see  now, 

Mr.  Ilalkbi.  —  Das  ist  sehr  interessant  Ich  versichere 
ihnen  das  ist  skhj<  interessant. 

Mr.  Twysdai. — Said  somethin'  ?  (This  cigar  is  really — Lll 
throw  it  away,  please.)  I  was  saying  that  at  Whipham,  where 
I  was  bred  up,  we  would  be  forty  at  dinner,  and  as  many  more 
in  the  upper  servants'  hall. 

Afr.  Lowndes. — And  you  dined  in  the— you  had  pretty  good 
dinners  ? 

Mr.  Tivysden. — A  French  chef.  Two  aids,  besides  turtle 
from  town.  Two  or  three  regular  cooks  on  the  establishment, 
besides  kitchen-maids,  roasters,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  you  un- 
derstand. How  many  have  you  here  now  .?  In  Lord  Estridge's 
kitchen  you  can't  do,  I  should  say,  at  least  without, — let  me 
see — why,  in  our  small  way — and  if  you  come  to  London  my 
father  will  be  dev'lish  glad  to  see  you — we 

Mr.  L.o%vndcs. — How  is  Mrs.  Woolcomb  this  morning  ?  That 
was  a  fair  dinner  W^oolcomb  gave  us  yesterday. 

Afr.  Twysdoi — He  has  plenty  of  money,  plenty  of  money. 
I  hope,  Lowndes,  when  you  come  to  town — the  first  time  you 
come,  mind — to  give  you  a  hearty  welcome  and  some  of  my 
father's  old  por 

Mr.  Llely. — Will  nobody  kick  this  little  beast  out  ? 

Scfvant. — Monsieur  Chesham  peut-il  voir  M.  Firm  in  ? 

Mr.  Chesham. — Certainly.     Come  in,  Firmin  ! 

Mr.  Iwysden. — Mr.  Fearmang — Mr.  Fir — Mr.  who  ?  You 
don't  mean  to  say  you  receive  ///rt-/ fellow,  Mr.  Chesham? 

Mr.  Chesham. — What  fellow  ?  and  what  do  you  mean,  Mr. 
What-d'ye-call-'im  ? 

Mr.    Twysden.  —  That    blackg oh — that    is,    I — I    beg 

your 

Mr.  Firmin  {entering  and  going  up  to  Afr.  Chesham). — I  say, 
give  me  a  bit  of  news  of  to-day.  What  were  you  saying  about 
that — hum  and  hum  and  haw — mayn't  I  have  it  ?  {He  is  talk- 
ing cofifidentially  with  Afr.  Chesha?n,  when  he  sees  Mr.  Twysden.) 
What !  you  have  got  that  little  cad  here  ? 


ON  ins  u-AY  TiiRorcir  the  ivokld.  3S7 

Mr.  Lowndes. — You  know  Mr.  Twysden,  Mr.  Firmin.  He 
was  just  speaking  about  you. 

Mr.  Firmin — Was  he  .?     So  much  the  worse  for  me. 

Mr.  Twysden. — Sir  !  We  don't  speak.  You've  no  right  to 
speak  to  me  in  this  manner !  Don't  speak  to  me  :  and  I  won't 
speak  to  you,  sir — there  !  Good-morning,  Mr.  Lowndes  !  Re- 
member your  promise  to  come  and  dine  with  us  when  you  come 
to  town.  And — one  word — {Jie  Jwlds  Mr.  Lo^vndes  by  the  button. 
By  the  way,  he  has  very  curious  resemblances  to  Twysden  senior) 
■ — we  shall  be  here  for  ten  days  certainly.  I  think  Lady  Est- 
ridge  has  something  next  week.     I  have  left  our  cards,  and 

Mr.  Lowndes. — Take  care.  LLe  will  be  there  [pointing  to 
Mr.  Firmin). 

Mr.    Tvysden. — What  ?     That  beggar  ?     You   don't  mean 

to  say  Lord  Estridge  will  receive  such  a  fellow  as Good-by, 

good-by  !     {Exit  Mr.  Twysden.) 

Mr.  Firmin. — I  caught  that  little  fellow's  eye.  He's  my 
cousin,  you  know.  We  have  had  a  quarrel.  I  am  sure  he  was 
speaking  about  me. 

Mr.  Lowndes. — Well,  now  you  mention  it,  he  tvas  speaking 
about  you. 

Mr.  Firmin. — Was  he  }  Then  don'' t  believe  hivi,  Mr.  Lowndes. 
That  is  my  advice. 

Mr.  Hely  {at  his  desk  composing). — "  Maiden  of  the  blushing 

cheek,  maiden   of  the — oh,  Charlotte,  Char "  he  bites  his 

pen  and  dashes  off  rapid  rhymes  on  Government  paper. 

Mr.  Firmin. — What  does  he  say  ?     He  said  Charlotte. 

Mr.  Lowndes. — He  is  always  in  love  and  breaking  his  heart, 
and  he  puts  it  into  poems  ;  he  wraps  it  up  in  paper,  and  falls 
in  love  with  somebody  else.  Sit  down  and  smoke  a  cigar, 
won't  you  ? 

Mr.  Firmin. — Can't  stay.  Must  make  up  my  letter.  We 
print  to-morrow. 

Mr.  Lo7vndes. — Who  wrote  that  article  pitching  into  Peel  ? 

Mr.  Firmin. — Family  secret — can't  say — good-by.  {Exit 
Mr.  Firmin.) 

Mr.  Chesham. — In  my  opinion  a  most  ill-advised  and  intem- 
perate article.  That  journal,  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette^  indulges 
in  a  very  needless  acrimony,  I  think. 

Mr.  Loiundes. — Chesham  does  not  like  to  call  a  spade  a 
spade.  He  calls  it  a  horticultural  utensil.  You  have  a  great 
career  before  you,  Chesham.  You  have  a  wisdom  and  gravity 
beyond  your  years.  You  bore  us  slightly,  but  we  all  respect 
you— we  do  indeed.     What  was  the  text  at  church   last  Sua- 


388 


THE  ADVExrri<i:s  01-  i'f{[Lrp 


(lay  ?  Oh,  by  the  way,  Hely,  you  little  nuscreanl,  vw<^  were  at 
church  ! 

Mr.  Chesham. — You  need  not  blush,  Hely.  I  am  not  a 
joking  man  ;  but  this  kind  of  jesting  does  not  strike  me  as 
being  particularly  amusing,  Lowndes. 

Mr.  Lowndes. — You  go  to  church  because  you  are  good, 
because  your  aunt  was  a  bishop  or  something.  But  Hely  goes 
because  he  is  a  little  miscreant.  You  hypocritical  little  beggar, 
you  got  yourself  up  as  if  you  were  going  to  a  dcjeiine.,  and  you 
had  your  liair  curled,  and  you  were  seen  singing  out  of  the 
same  hymn-book  with  that  pretty  Miss  Baynes,  you  little 
wheedling  sinner  ;  and  you  walked  home  with  the  family — my 
sisters  saw  you — to  a  boarding-house  where  they  live — by 
Jove  !  you  did.     And  I'll  tell  your  mother  ! 

Mr.  Chesham. — I  wish  you  would  not  make  such  a  noise, 
and  let  me  do  my  work,  Lowndes.     You 

Here  Asmodeus  whisks  us  out  of  the  room,  and  we  lose  the 
rest  of  the  young  men's  conversation.  But  enough  has  been 
overheard,  1  think,  to  show  what  direction  young  Mr.  Hely's 
thoughts  had  taken.  Since  he  was  seventeen  years  of  age  (at 
the  time  when  we  behold  him  he  may  be  twenty-three),  this 
romantic  youth  has  been  repeatedly  in  love  :  with  his  elderly 
tutor's  daughter,  of  course  ;  with  a  young  haberdasher  at  the 
university  ;  with  his  sister's  confidential  friend  ;  with  the  bloom- 
ing young  Danish  beauty  last  year  ;  and  now,  I  very  much 
fear,  a  young  acquanitance  of  ours  has  attracted  the  attention 
of  this  imaginative  Don  Juan.  Whenever  Hely  is  in  love,  he 
fancies  his  passion  will  last  for  ever,  makes  a  confidant  of  the 
first  person  at  hand,  weeps  plenteously,  and  writes  reams  of 
verses.  Do  you  remember  how  in  a  previous  chapter  we  told 
you  that  Mrs.  Tuffin  was  determined  she  would  not  ask  Philip  to 
her  soirees^  and  declared  him  to  be  a  forward  and  disagreeable 
young  man  ?  She  was  glad  enough  to  receive  young  Walsingham 
Hely,  with  his  languid  air,  his  drooping  head,  his  fair  curls,  and 
his  tlower  in  his  button-hole  ;  and  Hely,  being  then  in  hot  pursuit 
of  one  of  the  tall  Miss  Blacklocks,  went  to  Mrs.  Tufftn's,  was 
welcomed  there  with  all  the  honors  ;  and  there,  fluttering  away 
from  Miss  Blacklock,  our  butterfly  lighted  on  Miss  Baynes, 
Now  Miss  Baynes  would  have  danced  with  a  mop-stick,  she 
was  so  fond  of  dancing :  and  Hely,  who  had  practised  in  a 
thousand  Chaumieres,  Mabilles  (or  whatever  was  the  public 
dance-room  then  in  vogue),  was  a  most  amiable,  agile,  and 
excellent  partner.  And  she  told  Philip  ne.xt  day  what  a  nice 
little  partner  she  had  found — poor  l*hilip,  who  was  not  asked 


O.V  /f/S  IVAV  rirROUGH  THE  WORLD.  ^gfj 

to  that  paradise  of  a  party.  And  Philip  said  that  he  knew  the 
Httle  man  ;  that  he  believed  he  was  rich  ;  that  he  wrote  pretty 
little  verses  : — in  a  word,  Philip,  in  his  leonine  ways,  regarded 
little  Hely  as  a  lion  regards  a  lapdog. 

Now  this  little  Slyboots  had  a  thousand  artful  little  ways. 
He  had  a  very  keen  sensibility  and  a  fine  taste,  which  was  most 
readily  touched  by  innocence  and  beauty.  He  had  tears,  I 
won't  say  at  command  ;  for  they  were  under  no  command,  and 
gushed  from  his  fine  eyes  in  spite  of  himself.  Charlotte's 
innocence  and  freshness  smote  him  with  a  keen  pleasure.  Bon 
Dieu  !  What  was  that  great,  tall  Miss  Blacklock  who  had 
tramped  through  a  thousand  ball-rooms,  compared  to  this  art- 
less, happy  creature .''  He  danced  awa\  from  Miss  Blacklock 
and  after  Charlotte  the  moment  he  saw  our  young  friend  ;  and 
the  Blacklocks,  who  knew  all  about  him,  and  his  monev,  and 
his  mother,  and  his  expectations — who  had  his  verses  in  their 
poor  album,  by  whose  carriage  he  had  capered  day  after  day  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne — stood  scowling  and  deserted,  as  this 
young  fellow  danced  off  with  that  Miss  Baynes,  who  lived  in  a 
boarding-house,  and  came  to  parties  in  a  cab  with  her  horrid 
old  mother  !  The  Blacklocks  were  as  though  they  were  not 
henceforth  for  Mr.  Hely.  They  asked  him  to  dinner.  Bless 
my  soul,  he  utterly  forgot  all  about  it  !  He  never  came  to 
their  box  on  their  night  at  the  opera.  Not  one  twinge  of 
remorse  had  he.  Not  one  pang  of  remembrance.  If  he  did 
remember  them,  it  was  when  they  bored  him,  like  those  tall 
tragic  women  in  black  who  are  always  coming  in  their  great 
long  trains  to  sing  sermons  to  Don  Juan.  Ladies,  your  name 
is  down  in  his  lordship's  catalogue  ;  his  servant  has  it  ;  and 
you,  Miss  Anna,  are  number  one  thousand  and  three. 

But  as  for  Miss  Charlotte,  that  is  a  different  affair.  What 
innocence  !  What  a  fraicheiir  !  What  a  merry  good-humor  ! 
Don  Slyboots  is  touched,  he  is  tenderly  interested  :  her  artless 
voice  thrills  through  his  frame  ;  he  trembles  as  he  waltzes  with 
her ;  as  his  fine  eyes  look  at  her,  psha  !  what  is  that  film  com- 
ing over  them  ?  O  Slyboots,  Slyboots  !  And  as  she  has  nothing 
to  conceal,  she  has  told  him  all  he  wants  to  know  before  long. 
This  is  her  first  winter  in  Paris  :  her  first  season  of  coming  out. 
She  has  only  been  to  two  balls  before,  and  two  plays  and  an 
opera.  And  her  father  met  Mr.  Hely  at  Lord  Trim's.  That 
was  her  fatl-er  playing  at  whist.  And  they  lived  at  Madame 
Smolensk's  boarding-house  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es.  And  they 
had  been  to  Mr.  Dash's,  and  to  Mrs.  Blank's,  and  she  believed 
they  were  going  to  Mrs.  Star's   on   Friday.     And  did   they  go 


390  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

to  Church  ?  Of  course  they  went  to  church,  to  the  Rue 
d'Aguesseau,  or  wherever  it  might  be.  And  Slyboots  went  to 
church  next  Sunday.  You  may  perhaps  guess  to  what  churcli. 
And  he  went  the  Sunday  after.  And  he  sang  his  own 
songs,  accompanying  himself  on  tlie  guitar,  at  his  lodgings. 
And  he  sang  elsewhere.  And  he  had  a  very  pretty  little  voice, 
Slyboots  had.  T  believe  those  poems  under  the  common  title 
of  "  Gretchen  "  in  our  Walsingham's  charming  volume  were  all 
inspired  by  Miss  Baynes.  He  began  to  write  about  her  and 
himself  the  very  first  night  after  seeing  her.  He  smoked  cigar- 
ettes and  drank  green  tea.  He  looked  so  pale — so  pale  and 
sad  that  he  quite  pitied  himself  in  the  looking-glass  in  his  apart- 
ments in  the  Rue  Mirom6iil.  And  he  compared  himself  to  a 
wrecked  mariner,  and  to  a  grave,  and  to  a  man  entranced  and 
brought  to  life.  And  he  cried  quite  freely  and  satisfactorily  by 
himself.  And  he  went  to  see  his  mother  and  sister  ne.xt  day 
at  the  "  Hotel  de  la  Terrasse,"  and  cried  to  them  and  said  he 
was  in  love  this  time  for  ever  and  ever.  And  his  sister  called 
him  a  goose.  And  after  crying  he  ate  an  uncommonly  good 
dinner.  And  he  took  every  one  into  his  confidence,  as  he  al- 
ways did  whenever  he  was  in  love  :  always  telling,  always  mak- 
ing verses,  and  always  crying.  As  for  Miss  "Blacklock,  he 
buried  the  dead  body  of  that  love  deep  in  the  ocean  of  his  soul. 
The  waves  engulphed  Miss  B.  The  ship  rolled  on.  The 
storm  went  down.  And  the  stars  rose,  and  the  dawn  was  in 
his  soul,  &c.  Well,  well !  The  mother  was  a  vulgar  woman, 
and  I  am  glad  you  are  out  of  it.  And  what  sort  of  people  are 
General  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Oh,  delightful  people  !  Most  distinguished  officer,  the 
father;  modest — doesn't  say  a  word.  The  mother,  a  most 
lively,  brisk,  agreeable  woman.  You  must  go  and  see  her, 
ma'am.     I  desire  you'll  go  immediately." 

"  And  leave  cards  with  P.  P.  C".  for  the  Miss  Blacklocks  !  " 
says  Miss  Hely,  who  was  a  plain  lively  person.  And  both 
mother  and  sister  spoiled  this  young  Hely ;  as  women  ought 
always  to  spoil  a  son,  a  brother,  a  father,  husband,  grandfather 
— any  male  relative,  in  a  word. 

To  see  this  spoiled  son  married  was  the  good-natured 
mother's  fond  prayer.  An  eldest  son  had  died  a  rake  ;  a  victim 
to  too  much  money,  pleasure,  idleness.  The  widowed  mother 
would  give  anything  to  save  this  one  from  the  career  through 
which  the  elder  had  passed.  The  young  man  would  be  one 
day  so  wealthy,  that  she  knew  many  and  many  a  schemer 
would  try  and  entrap  him.     Perhaps,  she  had  been  made  to 


ON  HIS  WA  y  THROUGIf  THE  IVOKLD 


391 


marry  his  father  because  he  was  rich  ;  and  she  remembered 
the  gloom  and  wretchedness  of  her  own  union.  Oh,  that  she 
could  see  her  son  out  of  temptation,  and  the  husband  of  an 
honest  girl  !  It  was  the  young  lady's  first  season  ?  So  much 
the  more  likely  that  she  should  be  unworldly.  "  The  General 
— don't  you  remember  a  nice  old  gentleman — in  a — well,  in  a 
wig — that  day  we  dined  at  Lord  Trim's,  when  that  horrible  old 
Lord  Ringwood  was  there  ?  That  was  General  Baynes  ;  and 
he  broke  out  so  enthusiastically  in  defence  of  a  poor  young 
man — Dr.  Firmin's  son — who  was  a  bad  man,  I  believe  ;  but  I 
shall  never  have  confidence  in  another  doctor  again,  that  I 
sha'n't.  And  we'll  call  on  these  people,  Fanny.  Yes,  in  a  brown 
wig — the  General,  I  perfectly  well  remember  him,  and  Lord 
Trim  said  he  was  a  most  distinguished  officer.  And  I  have  no 
doubt  his  wife  will  be  a  most  agreeable  person.  Those  Gen- 
erals' wives  who  have  travelled  over  the  world  must  have  ac- 
quired a  quantity  of  delightful  information.  At  a  boarding- 
house,  are  they  ?  I  dare  say  very  pleasant  and  amusing.  And 
we'll  drive  there  and  call  on  them  immediately." 

On  that  day,  as  Macgrigor  and  Moira  Baynes  were  disporting 
in  the  little  front  garden  of  Madame  Smolensk's,  I  think  Moira 
was  just  about  to  lick  Macgrigor,  when  his  fratricidal  hand  was 
stopped  by  the  sight  of  a  large  yellow  carriage — a  large  London 
dowager  family  carriage — from  which  descended  a  large  London 
family  footman,  with  side-locks  begrimed  with  powder,  with 
calves  such  as  only  belong  to  large  London  family  footmen, 
and  with  cards  in  his  hand.  "  Ceci  Madame  Smolensk  ?  "  says 
the  large  menial.  "  Oui,"  says  the  boy,  nodding  his  head  ;  on 
which  the  footman  was  puzzled,  for  he  thought  from  his  readi- 
ness in  the  use  of  the  French  language  that  the  boy  was  a 
Frenchman. 

"  Ici  demure  General  Bang  ? "  continued  the  man. 

"  Hand  us  over  the  cards,  John.     Not  at  home,"  said  Moira. 

"  Who  ain't  at  'ome  ?  "  inquired  the  menial. 

"  General  Baynes,  my  father,  ain't  at  home.  He  shall  have 
the  pasteboard  when  he  comes  in.  *  Mrs.  Hely  ? '  Oh,  Mac, 
it's  the  same  name  as  that  young  swell  who  called  the  other 
day  1  Ain't  at  home,  John.  Gone  out  to  pay  some  visits. 
Had  a  fly  on  purpose.  Gone  out  with  my  sister.  'Pon  my 
word,  they  have  John."  And  from  this  accurate  report  of  the 
boy's  behavior,  I  fear  that  the  young  Baynes  must  have  been 
brought  up  at  a  classical  and  commercial  academy,  where 
economy  was  more  studied  then  politeness. 

Philip  comes  trudging  up  to  dinner,  and  as  this  is  not  his 


39- 


77//:  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILIP 


post  day,  arrives  early  ;  he  hopes,  perhaps,  for  a  walk  with  Miss 
Charlotte,  or  a  coze  in  Madame  Smolensk's  little  private  room. 
He  finds  the  two  boys  in  the  forecourt ;  and  they  have  Mrs. 
Hely's  cards  in  their  hands  ;  and  they  narrate  to  him  the 
advent  and  departure  of  the  lady  in  the  swell  carriage,  the 
mother  of  the  young  swell  with  the  flower  in  his  button-hole, 
who  came  the  other  day  on  such  a  jolly  horse.  "  Yes.  And 
he  w'as  at  church  last  Sunday,  Philip,  and  he  gave  Charlotte  a 
hymn-book.  And  he  sang:  he  sang  like  the  piper  who  played 
before  Moses,  Pa  said.  And  Ma  said  it  was  wicked,  but  it 
wasn't  :  only  Pa's  fun,  you  know.  And  Ma  said  you  never 
came  to  church.     Why  don't  you  ?  " 

Philip  had  no  taint  of  jealousy  in  his  magnanimous  composi- 
tion, and  would  as  soon  have  accused  Charlotte  of  flirting  with 
other  men  as  of  stealing  Madame's  silver  spoons.  *'  So  you 
have  had  some  fine  visitors,"  he  says,  as  the  fly  drives  up.  "  I 
remember  that  rich  Mrs.  Hely,  a  patient  of  my  father's.  My 
poor  mother  used  to  drive  to  her  house." 

"  Oh,  we  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Hely,  Philip  !  "  cries 
Miss  Charlotte,  not  heeding  the  scowls  of  her  mother,  who  is 
nodding  and  beckoning  angrily  to  the  girl. 

"  You  never  once  mentioned  him.  He  is  one  of  the  greatest 
dandies  about  Paris  :  quite  a  lion,"  remarks  Philip. 

"  Is  he  ?  What  a  funny  little  lion  !  I  never  thought  about 
him,"  says  Miss  Charlotte,  quite  simply.  O  ingratitude ! 
ingratitude !  And  we  ha\-e  told  how  Mr.  Walsingham  was 
crying  his  eyes  out  for  her. 

"  She  never  thought  about  him  ?  "  cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  quite 
eagerly. 

"  The  piper,  is  it,  you're  talking  about  .''"  asks  papa.  "I 
called  him  piper,  you  see,  because  he  piped  so  sweetly  at  ch — 
Well,  my  love  ?  " 

Mrs.  iJaynes  was  nudging  her  General  at  this  momeni.  She 
did  not  wish  that  the  piper  should  form  the  subject  of  conversa 
tion,  I  suppose. 

"  The  piper's  mother  is  very  rich,  and  the  piper  will  inherit 
after  her.  She  has  a  fine  house  in  London.  She  gives  very 
fine  parties.  She  drives  in  a  great  carriage,  and  she  has  come 
to  call  upon  you,  and  ask  you  to  her  balls,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  ]5aynes  was  delighted  at  this  call.  And  when  she  said. 
"I'm  sure  /don't  value  fine  people,  or  their  fine  parties,  or 
their  fine  carriages,  but  I  wish  that  my  dear  child  should  see 
the  world," — I  don't  believe  a  word  which  Mrs.  Paynes  said. 
She  was  much   more  pleased   than  Charlotte  at  the  idea  6t 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  TIIK  WORLD. 


393 


visiting  this  fine  lady  ;  or  else,  why  should  she  have  coaxed, 
and  wheedled,  and  been  so  particularly  gracious  to  the  (ieneral 
all  the  evening  ?  She  wanted  a  new  g^wn.  The  truth  is,  her 
yellow  wa.^  very  shabby  ;  whereas  Charlotte,  in  plain  white 
muslin,  looked  pretty  enough  to  be  able  to  dispense  with  the 
aid  of  any  French  milliner.  I  fancy  a  consultation  with  Madame 
and  Mrs.  Bunch.  I  fancy  a  fly  ordered,  and  a  visit  to  the 
milliner's  \\\<  next  day.  And  when  the  pattern  of  the  gown  is 
settled  with  the  milliner,  I  fancy  the  terror  on  Mrs.  Baynes's 
weazened  face  when  she  ascertains  the  amount  of  the  bill.  To 
do  her  justice,  the  General's  wife  had  spent  little  upon  her  own 
homely  person.  She  chose  her  gowns  ugly,  but  cheap.  There 
were  so  many  backs  to  clothe  in  that  family  that  the  thrifty 
mother  did  not  heed  the  decoration  of  her  own. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

NEC    DULCES    AMORES    SPERNE,    PUER,    NEQUE   TU   CHOREAS. 

"  My  dear,"  Mrs.  Baynes  said  to  her  daughter,  "  You  are 
going  out  a  great  deal  in  the  world  now.  You  will  go  to  a 
great  number  of  places  where  poor  Philip  cannot  hope  to  be 
admitted." 

"  Not  admit  Philip,  mamma  !  then  I'm  sure  I  don't  want 
to  go,"  cries  the  girl. 

"  Time  enough  to  leave  off  going  to  parties  when  you  can't 
afford  it  and  marry  him.  When  I  was  a  lieutenant's  wife,  I 
didn't  go  to  any  parties  out  of  the  regiment,  my  dear !  " 

"  Oh,  then,  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  want  to  go  out !  "  Char- 
lotte declares. 

"  You  fancy  he  will  always  stop  at  home,  I  dare  say.  Men 
are  not  all  so  domestic  as  your  papa.  Very  few  love  to  stop  at 
home  like  him.  Indeed,  I  may  say  I  have  made  his  home 
comfortable.  But  one  thing  is  clear,  my  child.  Philip  can't 
always  expect  to  go  where  we  go.  He  is  not  in  the  position  in 
life.  Recollect,  your  father  is  a  general  oflicer.  C.B.,  and  may 
be  K.C.B.  soon,  and  your  mother  is  a  general  oi^cer's  lady. 
We  may  go  anywhere.  I  might  have  gone  to  the  drawing- 
room  at  home  if  I  chose.  Lady  Biggs  would  ha\e  been 
delighted  to  present  me.     Your  aunt  has  been  to  the  drawing- 


394  ^-^-^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

room,  and  she  is  only  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter  ;  and  most 
absurd  it  was  of  Mac  to  let  her  go.  But  she  rules  him  in 
everything,  and  they  have  no  children.  I  have,  goodness 
knows  !  I  sacrifice  myself  for  my  children.  You  little  know 
what  I  deny  myself  for  my  children.  I  said  to  Lady  Biggs, 
'  No,  Lady  Biggs  ;  my  husband  may  go.  He  should  go.  He 
has  his  uniform,  and  it  will  cost  him  nothing  except  a  fly  and  a 
bouquet  for  the  man  who  dri\'es  ;  but  /will  not  spend  money  on 
myself  for  the  hire  of  diamonds  and  feathers,  and,  though  I 
yield  in  loyalty  to  no  person,  I  dare  say  my  Sovereign  won^t 
7?iiss  me.'  And  I  don't  think  her  Majesty  did.  She  has  other 
things  to  think  of  besides  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  I  suppose. 
She  is  a  mother,  and  can  appreciate  a  mother's  sacrifices  for 
her  children." 

If  I  have  not  hitherto  given  you  detailed  reports  of  Mrs. 
General  Baynes'  conversation,  I  don't  think,  my  esteemed 
reader,  you  will  be  very  angry. 

"  Now,  child,"  the  General's  lady  continued,  "  let  me  warn 
you  not  to  talk  much  to  Philip  about  those  places  to  which  you 
go  without  him.  and  to  which  his  position  in  life  does  not 
allow  of  his  coming.  Hide  anything  from  him  ?  Oh,  dear,  no  ! 
Only  for  his  own  good,  you  understand.  I  don't  tell  every- 
thing to  your  papa.  I  should  only  worrit  him  and  vex  him. 
When  anything  will  please  him,  and  make  him  happy,  thai  I 
tell  him.  And  about  Philip  ?  Philip,  I  must  say  it,  my  dear — 
1  must  as  a  mother  say  it — has  his  faults.  He  is  an  envious 
man.  Don't  look  shocked.  He  thinks  very  well  of  himself  ; 
and  having  been  a  great  deal  spoiled,  and  made  too  much  of 
in  his  unhappy  father'^;  time,  he  is  so  proud  and  haughty  that 
he  forgets  his  position,  and  thinks  he  ought  to  live  with  the 
highest  society.  Had  Lord  Ringwood  left  him  a  fortune,  as 
Philip  led  us  to  expect  when  we  gave  our  consent  to  this  most 
unlucky  match — for  that  my  dear  child  should  marry  a  beggar 
is  most  unlucky  and  most  deplorable  ;  I  can't  help  saying  so, 
Charlotte, — if  I  were  on  my  deathbed  I  couldn't  help  saying 
so ;  and  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  we  had  never  seen  or  heard 
of  him. — There  ?  Don't  go  off  in  one  of  your  tantrums  ! 
What  was  T  saying,  pray  ?  I  say  that  Philip  is  in  no  position, 
or  rather  in  a  very  humble  one,  which — a  mere  newspaper- 
writer  and  a  subaltern  too — everybody  acknowledges  it  to  be. 
And  if  he  hears  us  talking  about  our  parties  to  which  we  have 
a  right  to  go — to  which  you  have  a  right  to  go  with  your 
mother,  a  general  officer's  lady — why  he'll  be  offended.  He 
won't  like  to  hear  about  them  and  think  he  can't  be  invited ; 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


395 


and  you  had  better  not  talk  about  them  at  all,  or  about  the 
people  you  meet  and  dance  with.  At  Mrs.  Hely's  you  may 
dance  with  Lord  Headbury,  the  ambassador's  son.  And  if  you 
tell  Philip  he  will  be  offended.  He  will  say  that  you  boast 
about  it.  When  I  was  only  a  lieutenant's  wife  at  Barrackpore, 
Mrs.  Captain  Capers  used  to  go  to  Calcutta  to  the  Government 
House  balls.  I  didn't  go.  But  I  was  offended,  and  I  used  to 
say  that  Flora  Capers  gave  herself  airs,  and  was  always  boast- 
ing of  her  intimacy  with  the  Marchioness  of  Hastings.  We 
don't  like  our  equals  to  be  better  off  than  ourselves.  Mark 
my  words.  And  if  you  talk  to  Philip  about  the  people  whom 
you  meet  in  society,  and  whom  he  can't  from  his  unfortunate 
station  expect  to  know,  you  will  ofifend  him.  That  was  why  I 
nudged  you  to-day  when  you  weie  going  on  about  Mr.  Hely. 
Anything  so  absurd !  I  saw  Philip  getting  angry  at  once,  and 
biting  his  mustaches,  as  he  always  does  when  he  is  angr^' — 
and  swears  quite  out  loud — so  vulgar !  There  !  you  are  going 
to  be  angry  again,  my  love  ;  I  never  saw  anything  like  you  !  Is 
this  my  Charly  who  never  was  angry  ?  I  know  the  world,  dear, 
and  you  don't.  Look  at  me,  how  I  manage  your  papa,  and  I 
tell  you  don't  talk  to  Philip  about  things  which  offend  him  ! 
Now,  dearest,  kiss  your  poor  old  mother  who  loves  you.  Go 
up  stairs  and  bathe  your  eyes,  and  come  down  happy  to  dinner." 
And  at  dinner  Mrs.  General  Baynes  was  uncommonly  gracious 
to  Philip  :  and  when  gracious  she  was  especially  odious  to 
Philip,  whose  magnanimous  nature  accommodated  itself  ill  to 
the  wheedling  artifices  of  an  ill-bred  old  woman. 

Following  this  wretched  mother's  advice,  my  poor  Charlotte 
spoke  scarcely  at  all  to  Philip  of  the  parties  to  which  she  went, 
and  the  amusements  which  she  enjoyed  without  him.  I  dare 
say  Mrs.  Baynes  was  quite  happy  in  thinking  that  she  was 
"  guiding  "  her  child  rightly.  As  if  a  coarse  woman,  because 
she  is  mean,  and  greedy,  and  hypocritical,  and  fifty  years  old, 
has  a  right  to  lead  a  guileless  nature  into  wrong  !  Ah  !  if  some 
of  us  old  folks  were  to  go  to  school  to  our  children,  I  am  sure, 
madam,  it  would  do  us  a  great  deal  of  good.  There  is  a  fund 
of  good  sense  and  honorable  feeling  about  my  great-grandson 
Tommy,  which  is  more  valuable  than  all  his  grandpapa's 
experience  and  knowledge  of  the  world.  Knowledge  of  the 
world  forsooth  !  Compromise,  selfishness  modified,  and  double 
dealing,  Tom  disdains  a  lie  :  when  he  wants  a  peach,  he  roars 
for  it.  If  his  mother  wishes  to  go  to  a  party,  she  coaxes,  and 
wheedles,  and  manages,  and  smirks,  and  curtseys  for  months, 
in  order  to  get  her  end  ;  takes  twenty  rebuffs  and  comes  up  to 


396  TIIF.  ADVENTrRES  OF  PHI  LIP 

the  scratch  again  smiling  \ — and  this  woman  is  forever  lecturing 
her  daughters,  and  preaching  to  her  sons  upon  virtue,  honesty, 
and  moral  behavior  ! 

Mrs.  Hely's  little  party  at  the  "Hotel  de  la  Terrasse  "  was 
very  pleasant  and  bright ;  and  Miss  Charlotte  enjoyed  it, 
although  her  swain  was  not  present.  Rut  Philip  was  pleased 
that  his  little  Charlotte  should  be  happy.  She  beheld  with 
wonderment  Parisian  duchesses,  American  millionaires,  dandies 
from  the  embassies,  deputies  and  peers  of  France  with  large 
stars  and  wigs  like  papa.  She  gayly  described  her  party  to 
Philip ;  described,  that  is  to  say,  ever}'thing  but  her  own 
success,  which  was  undoubted.  There  were  many  beauties  at 
Mrs.  Hely's,  but  nobody  fresher  or  prettier.  The  Miss  IJlack- 
locks  retired  very  early  and  in  the  worst  possible  temper. 
Prince  Slyboots  did  not  in  the  least  heed  their  going  away. 
His  thoughts  were  all  fixed  upon  little  Charlotte.  Charlotte's 
mamma  saw  the  impression  which  the  girl  made,  and  was  filled 
with  a  hungry  joy.  Good-natured  Mrs.  Hely  complimented 
her  on  her  daughter.  "  Thank  God,  she  is  as  good  as  she 
is  pretty,"  says  her  mother,  I  am  sure  speaking  seriously  this 
time  regarding  her  daughter.  Prince  Slyboots  danced  with 
scarce  anybody  else.  He  raised  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  com- 
pliments round  about  Charlotte.  She  was  quite  a  simple  per- 
son, and  did  not  understand  one-tenth  part  of  what  he  said 
to  her.  He  strewed  her  ^^ath  with  roses  of  poesy :  he  scat- 
tered garlands  of  sentiment  before  her  all  the  way  from  the 
ante-chamber  down  stairs,  and  so  to  the  fly  which  was  in  waiting 
to  take  her  and  parents  home  to  the  boarding-house.  "  By 
George,  Charlotte,  I  think  you  have  smitten  that  fellow,"  cries 
the  General,  who  was  infinitely  amused  by  young  Hely — his 
raptures,  his  affectations,  his  long  hair,  and  what  Paynes  called 
his  low  dress.  A  slight  white  tape  and  a  ruby  button  confined 
Hely's  neck.  His  hair  waved  over  his  shoulders.  Paynes  had 
never  seen  such  a  specimen.  At  the  mess  of  the  stout  120th, 
the  lads  talked  of  their  dogs,  horses,  and  sport.  A  young 
civilian,  smattering  in  poetry,  chattering  in  a  dozen  languages, 
scented,  smiling,  perfectly  at  ease  with  himself  and  the  world, 
was  a  novelty  to  the  old  officer. 

And  now  the  Queen's  birthday  arrived — and  that  it  may 
arrive  for  many  scores  of  years  yet  to  come  is,  I  am  sure,  the 
prayer  of  all  of  us — and  with  the  birthday  his  Excellency  Lord 
Estridge's  grand  annual  fete  in  honor  of  his  sovereign.  A  card 
for  their  ball  was  left  at  Madam  Smolensk's,  for  General,  Mrs, 
and  Miss  Paynes  ;  and  no  doubt  Monsieur  Slyboots  Walsing- 


MISS    CHARLOTTE   AND    HER    PARTNERS. 


OiV  HIS  IVA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


397 


ham  Hely  was  the  artful  agent  by  whom  the  invitation  was 
forwarded.  Once  more  the  General's  veteran  uniform  came  out 
from  the  tin-box,  with  its  dingy  epaulets  and  little  cross  and 
ribbon.  His  wife  urged  upon  him  strongly  the  necessity  of 
having  a  new  wig,  wigs  being  very  cheap  and  good  at  Paris — 
but  Baynes  said  a  new  wig  would  make  his  old  coat  look  very 
shabby,  and  a  new  uniform  would  cost  more  money  than  he 
would  like  to  afford.  So  shabby  he  went  de  cap  a  pied,  with  a 
moulting  feather,  a  threadbare  suit,  a  tarnished  wig,  and  a 
worn-out  lace,  sibi  constans.  Boots,  trousers,  sash,  coat,  were 
all  old  and  worse  for  wear,  and  "faith,"  says  he,  "my  face 
follows  suit."  A  brave,  silent  man  was  Baynes  ;  with  a  twinkle 
of  humor  in  his  lean,  wrinkled  face. 

And  if  General  Baynes  was  shabbily  attired  at  the  Embassy 
ball,  I  think  I  know  a  friend  of  mine  who  was  shabby  too.  In 
the  days  of  his  prosperity,  Mr.  Philip  was  parens  ciiltor  et 
infrcquens  of  balls,  routs,  and  ladies'  company.  Perhaps 
because  his  father  was  angered  at  Philip's  neglect  of  his  social 
advantages  and  indifference  as  to  success  in  the  world,  Philip 
was  the  more  neglectful  and  indifferent.  The  elder's  comedy- 
smiles,  and  solemn,  hypocritical  politeness  caused  scorn  and 
revolt  on  the  part  of  the  younger  man.  Philip  despised  the 
humbug,  and  the  world  to  which  such  humbug  could  be  welcome. 
He  kept  aloof  from  tea-parties  then':  his  evening-dress  clothes 
served  him  for  a  long  time.  I  cannot  say  how  old  his  dress- 
coat  was  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing.  But  he  had  been 
in  the  haoit  of  respecting  that  garment  and  considering  it  new 
and  handsome  for  many  years  past.  Meanwhile  the  coat  had 
shrunk,  or  its  wearer  had  grown  stouter ;  and  his  grand 
embroidered,  embossed,  illuminated,  carved  and  gilt  velvet 
dress  waistcoat,  too,  had  narrowed,  had  become  absurdly  tight 
and  short,  and  I  dare  say  was  the  laughing-stock  of  many  of 
Philip's  acquaintances,  whilst  he  himself,  poor  simple  fellow, 
was  fancying  that  it  was  a  most  splendid  article  of  apparel. 
You  know  in  the  Palais  Royal  they  hang  out  the  most  splendid 
reach-me-down  dressing-gowns,  waistcoats,  and  so  forth. 
"  No,"  thought  Philip,  coming  out  of  his  cheap  dining-house, 
and  swaggering  along  the  arcades,  and  looking  at  the  tailors' 
shops,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  My  brown  velvet  dress 
waistcoat  with  the  gold  sprigs,  which  I  had  made  at  college,  is 
a  much  more  tasty  thing  than  these  gaudy  ready-made  articles. 
And  my  coat  is  old  certainly,  but  the  brass  buttons  are  still 
very  bright  antl  handsome,  and,  in  fact,  it  is  a  most  becoming 
and  gentlemanlike  thing."     And  under  this  delusion  the  honest 


398  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  nilLlP 

fellow  dressed  himself  in  his  old  clothes,  lighted  a  pair  o\ 
candles,  and  looked  at  himself  with  satisfaction  in  the  looking- 
glass,  drew  on  a  pair  of  cheap  gloves  which  he  had  bought, 
walked  by  the  Quays,  and  over  the  Deputies'  Bridge,  across  the 
Place  Louis  XV.,  and  strutted  up  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore  to 
the  Hotel  of  the  British  Embassy.  A  half-mile  queue  of 
carriages  was  formed  along  the  street,  and  of  course  the 
entrance  to  the  hotel  was  magnificently  illuminated. 

A  plague  on  those  cheap  gloves  !  Why  had  not  Philip 
paid  three  francs  for  a  pair  of  gloves,  intead  of  twenty-nine 
sous  ?  Mrs.  Baynes  had  found  a  capital  cheap  glove  shop, 
whither  poor  Phil  had  gone  in  the  simplicity  of  liis  heart  ;  and 
now  as  he  went  in  under  the  grand  illuminated  porte-cochere, 
Philip  saw  that  the  gloves  had  given  way  at  the  thumbs,  and 
that  his  hands  appeared  through  the  rents,  a-;  red  as  raw  beef- 
steaks. It  is  wonderful  how  red  hands  will  look  through  holes 
in  white  gloves.  "  And  there's  that  hole  in  my  boot,  too," 
thought  Phil ;  but  he  had  put  a  little  ink  over  the  seam,  and 
so  the  rent  was  imperceptible.  The  coat  and  waistcoat  were 
tight,  and  of  a  past  age.  Never  mind.  The  chest  was  broad, 
the  arms  were  muscular  and  long,  and  Phil's  face,  in  the  midst 
of  a  halo  of  fair  hair  and  flaming  whiskers,  looked  brave,  hon- 
est, and  handsome.  For  awhile  his  eyes  wandered  fiercely  and 
restlessly  ail  about  the  room  from  group  to  group ;  but  now — • 
ah  I  now — they  were  settled.  They  had  met  another  pair  of 
eyes,  which  lighted  up  with  glad  welcome  when  they  beheld 
him.  Two  young  cheeks  mantled  with  a  sweet  blush.  These 
were  Charlotte's  cheeks :  and  hard  by  them  were  mamma's,  of 
a  very  different  color.  But  Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  a  know- 
ing turban  on,  and  a  set  of  garnets  round  her  old  neck,  like 
gooseberries  set  in  gold. 

They  admired  the  rooms  :  they  heard  the  names  of  the 
great  folks  who  arrived,  and  beheld  many  famous  personages. 
They  made  their  curtseys  to  the  ambassadress.  Confusion  ! 
With  a  great  rip,  the  thumb  of  one  of  those  cheap  gloves  of 
Philip's  parts  company  from  the  rest  of  the  glove,  and  he  is 
obliged  to  wear  it  crumpled  up  in  his  hand  :  a  dreadful  mishap 
— for  he  is  going  to  dance  with  Charlotte,  and  he  will  have  to 
give  his  hand  to  the  vis-a-vis. 

Who  comes  up  smiling,  with  a  low  neck,  with  waving  curls 
and  whiskers,  pretty  little  hands  exquisitely  gloved,  and  tiny 
feet?  'Tis  Hcly  \Valsinghani,  lightest  in  the  dance.  Most 
affably  does  Mrs.  Ceneral  Haynes  greet  the  young  fello\\.  Very 
brightly  and  happily  do  Charlotte's  eyes  glance  towards  her 


ox  [US  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD 


399 


favorite  partner.  It  is  certain  that  poor  Phil  can't  hope  at  all 
to  dance  like  Hely.  "  And  see  what  nice  neat  feet  and  hands 
he  has  got,"  says  Mrs.  Baynes.  "  Comme  il  est  bien  gante  !  A 
gentleman  ought  to  be  always  well  gloved." 

"  Why  did  you  send  me  to  the  twenty-nine-sous-shop  .'  " 
says  poor  Phil,  looking  at  his  tatt;  red  hand-shoes  and  red  ob- 
trusive thumb. 

"  Oh,  you !  " — (here  Mrs.  Baynes  shrugs  her  yellow  old 
shoulders.)  "  Your  hand  would  burst  through  any  gloves  1 
How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hely  ?  Is  your  mamma  here  ?  Of  course 
she  is  !  What  a  delightful  party  she  gave  us  !  The  dear  am- 
bassadress looks  quite  unwell — most  pleasing  manners,  I  am 
sure  ;  Lord  Estridge,  what  a  perfect  gentleman  !  " 

The  Bayneses  were  just  come.  For  what  dance  was  Miss 
Baynes  disengaged  ?  "  As  many  as  eyer  you  like  ! "  cries 
Charlotte,  who,  in  fact,  called  Hely  her  little  dancing-master, 
and  never  thought  of  him  except  as  a  partner.  "  Oh,  too  much 
happiness  !  Oh,  that  this  could  last  for  ever  !  "  sighed  Hely, 
after  a  waltz,  polka,  mazurka,  I  know  not  what,  and  fixing  on 
Charlotte  the  full  blaze  of  his  beauteous  blue  eyes.  "  For 
ever?"  cries  Charlotte,  laughing.  "I'm  very  fond  of  danc- 
ing, indeed  ;  and  you  dance  beautifully ;  but  I  don't  know  that 
I  should  like  to  dance  for  ever."  Ere  the  words  are  over,  he 
is  whirling  her  round  the  room  again.  His  little  feet  fly  with 
surprising  agility.  His  hair  floats  behind  him.  He  scatters 
odors  as  he  spins.  The  handkerchief  with  which  he  fans  his 
pale  brow  is  like  a  cloudy  film  of  muslin — and  poor  old  Philip 
sees  with  terror  that  his  pocket-handkerchief  has  got  three 
great  holes  in  it.  His  nose  and  one  eye  appeared  through  one 
of  the  holes  while  Phil  was  wiping  his  forehead.  It  was  very 
hot.  He  was  very  hot.  He  was  hotter,  though  standing  still, 
than  young  Hely  who  was  dancing.  "  He  !  he  !  I  compliment 
you  on  your  gloves,  and  your  handkerchief,  I'm  sure,"  sniggers 
Mrs.  Baynes,  with  a  toss  of  her  turban.  Has  it  not  been  said 
that  a  bull  is  a  strong,  courageous,  and  noble  animal,  but  a 
bull  in  a  china-shop  is  not  in  his  place  ?  "  There  you  go. 
Thank  you  !  I  wish  you'd  go  somewhere  else,"  cries  Mrs. 
Baynes,  in  a  fury.  Poor  Philip's  foot  has  just  gone  through 
her  flounce.  How  red  is  he !  how  much  hotter  than  ever ! 
There  go  Hely  and  Charlotte,  whirling  round  like  two  opera- 
dancers  !  Philip  grinds  his  teeth,  he  buttons  his  coat  across 
his  chest.  How  very  tight  it  feels  !  How  savagely  his  eyes 
glare  !  Do  young  men  still  look  savage  and  solenui  at  balls  .'' 
An  ingenuous  young  Englishman  ought  to  do  that  duty  of 


400 


TJ/E  ADVEXTL'KES  OF  PHI  LI  I' 


dancing,  of  course.  Society  calls  upon  him,  ]>ut  I  doubt 
whether  he  ought  to  look  cheerful  during  the  performance,  or 
flippantly  engage  in  so  grave  a  matter. 

As  Charlotte's  sweet  round  face  beamed  smiles  upon  Philip 
over  Hely's  shoulders,  it  looked  so  happy  that  he  never  thought 
of  grudging  her  her  pleasure  :  and  happy  he  might  have  re- 
mained in  this  contemplation,  regarding  not  the  circle  of  dancers 
who  were  galloping  and  whirling  on  at  their  usual  swift  rate, 
but  her,  who  was  the  centre  of  all  joy  and  pleasure  for  him  ; — 
when  suddenly  a  shrill  voice  was  heard  behind  him,  crying, 
■'  Get  out  of  the  way,  hang  you  !  "  and  suddenly  there  bounced 
against  him  Ringwood  Twysden,  pulling  Miss  Flora  Trotter 
round  the  room,  one  of  the  most  powerful  and  intrepid  dancers 
of  the  season  at  Paris.  They  hurtled  past  Philip  ;  they  shot 
him  forward  against  a  pillar.  He  heard  a  screech,  an  oath,  and 
another  loud  laugh  from  Twysden,  and  beheld  the  scowls  of 
Miss  Trotter  as  that  rapid  creature  bumped  at  length  into  a 
place  of  safety. 

I  told  you  about  Philip's  coat.  It  was  very  tight.  The 
daylight  had  long  been  struggling  to  make  an  entry  at  the 
seams.  As  he  staggered  up  against  the  wall,  crack  !  went  a 
great  hole  at  his  back  ;  and  crack  !  one  of  his  gold  buttons 
came  off,  leaving  a  rent  in  his  chest.  It  was  in  those  days 
when  gold  buttons  still  lingered  on  the  breasts  of  some  brave 
men,  and  we  have  said  simple  Philip  still  thought  his  coat  a 
fine  one. 

There  was  not  only  a  rent  of  the  seam,  there  was  not  only 
a  burst  button,  but  there  was  also  a  rip  in  Philip's  rich  cut- 
velvet  waistcoat,  with  the  gold  sprigs,  which  he  thought  so 
handsome  —  a  great,  heart-rending  scar.  What  was  to  be 
done  ?  Retreat  was  necessary.  He  told  Miss  Charlotte  of  the 
hurt  he  had  receivetl,  whose  face  wore  a  very  comical  look  of 
pity  at  his  misadventure — he  covered  part  of  his  wound  with 
his  gibus  hat — and  he  thought  he  would  try  and  make  his  way 
out  by  the  garden  of  the  hotel,  which,  of  course,  was  illuminated, 
and  bright,  and  crowded,  but  not  so  very  bright  and  crowded 
as  the  salons,  galleries,  supper-rooms,  and  halls  of  gilded 
light  in  which  the  company,  for  the  most  part,  assembled. 

So  our  poor  wounded  friend  wandered  into  tlie  garden,  over 
which  the  moon  was  shining  with  the  most  blank  indifference 
at  the  fiddling,  feasting,  and  parti-colored  lamps.  He  says  that 
his  mind  was  soothed  by  the  aspect  of  yonder  placid  moon  and 
twinkling  stars,  and  he  had  altogether  forgotten  his  trumpery 
little  accident  and  torn  goat  and  waistcoat ;  but  I  doubt  about 


OlSr  HIS  WAY  'J'lIKOUGlI  TlfK   WORLD. 


401 


the  entire  truth  of  this  statement,  for  there  have  been  some 
occasions  when  he,  Mr.  PhiHp,  has  mentioned  h  .  subject,  and 
owned  that  he  was  mortified  and  in  a  rage. 

WelL  He  went  into  the  garden  :  and  was  calming  himself 
by  contemphating  the  stars,  when,  just  by  that  fountain  where 
there  is  Pradier's  httle  statue  of — Moses  in  the  Bulrushes,  let 
us  say — round  which  there  was  a  beautiful  row  of  illuminated 
lamps,  lighting  up  a  great  coronal  of  flowers,  .^hich  my  dear 
readers  are  at  liberty  to  select  and  arrange  accord,  ng  to  their 
own  exquisite  taste  ; — near  this  little  fountain  he  found  three 
gentlemen  talking  together. 

The  high  voice  of  one  Philip  could  hear,  and  knew  from  old 
days.  Ringwood  Twysden,  Esquire,  always  liked  to  talk  and 
to  excite  himself  with  other  persons'  liquor  He  had  been 
drinking  the  Sovereign's  health  with  great  assiduity,  I  suppose, 
and  was  exceedingly  loud  and  happy.  With  Ringwood  was  Mr. 
Woolcomb,  whose  countenance  the  lamps  lit  up  in  a  fine  lurid 
manner,  and  whose  eyeballs  gleamed  in  the  twilight :  and  the 
third  of  the  group  was  our  young  friend  Mr.  Lowndes. 

"  I  owed  him  one,  you  see,  Lowndes,"  said  Mr.  Ringwood 
Twysden.  "  I  hate  the  fellow  !  Hang  him,  always  did  !  I 
saw  the  great  hulkin'  brute  standin'  there.  Couldn't  help  my- 
self. Give  you  my  honor,  couldn't  help  myself.  I  just  drove 
Miss  Trotter  at  him — sent  her  elbow  well  into  him,  and  spun 
him  up  against  the  wall.  The  buttons  cracked  off  the  beggar's 
coat,  begad  !  What  business  had  he  there,  hang  him  ?  Gad, 
sir,  he  made  a  cannon  off  an  old  woman  in  blue,  and  went 
into  *  *  *  *  " 

Here  Mr.  Ringvvood's  speech  came  to  an  end :  for  his 
cousin  stood  before  him,  grim  and  biting  his  mustache. 

"  Hullo  !  "  piped  the  other.  "  Who  wants  you  to  overhear 
my  conversation  t     Dammy,  1  say  !     i  *  *  *  *  " 

Philip  put  out  that  hand  with  the  torn  glove.  The  glove 
was  in  a  dreadful  state  of  disruption  now.  He  worked  the 
hand  well  into  his  kinsman's  neck,  and  twisting  Ringwood 
round  into  a^  proper  position,  brought  that  poor  old  broken 
boot  so  to  bear  upon  the  proper  quarter,  that  Ringwood  was 
discharged  into  the  little  font,  and  lighted  amidst  the  flowers, 
and  the  water,  and  the  oil-lamps,  and  made  a  dreadful  mess 
and  splutter  amongst  them.  And  as  for  Philip's  coat,  it  was 
torn  worse  than  ever. 

I  don't  know  how  many  of  the  brass  buttons  had  revolted 
and  parted  company  from  the  poor  old  cloth,  which  cracked 
{ind  split,  and  tore   under  the   agitation  of  that  beating  angry 

2^ 


402 


THE  AD]'K\7'rRES  OF  PlflLrr 


bosom.  I  blush  as  I  think  of  Mr.  Fiimin  in  tliis  ragged  state, 
a  great  rent  all  across  his  back,  and  his  prostrate  enemy  lying 
howling  in  the  water,  amidst  the  sputtering,  crashing  oil-lamps 
at  his  feet.  When  Cinderella  quitted  her  first  ball,  just  after 
the  clock  struck  twelve,  we  all  know  how  shabby  siie  looked, 
Philip  was  a  still  more  disreputable  object  when  he  slunk  away. 
I  don't  know  by  what  side  door  Mr.  Lowndes  eliminated  him. 
He  also  benevolently  took  charge  of  Philip's  kinsman  and 
antagonist,  Mr.  Ringwood  Twysden.  Mr.  Twysden's  hands, 
coat-tails,  &c.,  were  very  much  singed  and  scalded  by  the  oil, 
and  cut  by  the  broken  glass,  which  was  all  extracted  at  the 
Beaujon  Hospital,  but  not  without  much  suffering  on  the  part 
of  the  patient.  But  though  young  Lowndes  spoke  up  for 
Philip,  in  describing  the  scene  (I  fear  not  without  laughter), 
his  Excellency  caused  Mr.  Firmin's  name  to  be  erased  from 
his  party  lists  :  and  I  am  sure  no  sensible  man  will  defend 
Philip's  conduct  for  a  moment. 

Of  this  lamentable  fracas  which  occurred  in  the  Hotel 
Garden,  Miss  Baynes  and  her  parents  had  no  knowledge  for 
awhile.  Charlotte  was  too  much  occupied  with  her  dancing, 
which  she  pursued  with  all  her  might;  papa  was  at  cards  with 
some  sober  male  and  female  veterans,  and  mamma  was  looking 
with  delight  at  her  daughter,  whom  the  young  gentlemen  of  many 
embassies  were  charmed  to  choose  for  a  partner.  When  Lord 
Headbury,  Lord  Estridge's  son,  was  presented  to  Miss  Baynes, 
her  mother  was  so  elated  that  she  was  ready  to  dance  too.  I 
do  not  envy  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter,  at  Tours,  the  perusal  of 
that  immense  manuscript  in  which  her  sister  recorded  the 
events  of  the  ball.  Here  was  Charlotte,  beautiful,  elegant, 
accomplished,  admired  everynvhere,  with  young  men,  young  fwble- 
mcn  of  immense  property  and  expectations,  wild  about  her ;  and 
engaged  by  a  promise  to  a  rude,  xzggcd,  J)resur/i/tHOus,  ill  bred 
young  man,  without  a petiny  in  i.'te  world — wasn't  it  provoking.' 
Ah,  poor  Philip  !  How  that  little  sour,  yellow  mother-in-law 
elect  did  scowl  at  him  when  he  came  with  rather  a  shamefaced 
look  to  pay  his  duty  to  his  sweetheart  on  the  jday  after  the 
ball !  Mrs.  Baynes  caused  her  daughter  to  dress  with  extra 
smartness,  had  forbidden  the  poor  child  to  go  out,  and  coaxed 
her,  and  wheedled  her,  and  dressed  her  with  I  know  not  what 
ornaments  of  her  own,  with  a  fond  expectation  that  Lord  Head- 
bury,  that  the  yellow  young  Spanish  attache,  that  the  sprightly 
Prussian  secretary,  and  Walsingham  Hely,  Charlotte's  partners 
at  the  ball,  would  certainly  call  ;  and  the  only  equipage  that 
appeared  at  Madame  Smolensk's  gate  was   a   hack  cab,  which 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD. 


403 


drove  up  at  evening,  and  out  of  which  poor  Philip's  well-known 
tattered  boots  came  striding.  Such  a  fond  mother  as  Mrs. 
Baynes  may  well  have  been  out  of  humor. 

As  for  Philip,  he  was  unusually  shy  and  modest.  He  had 
been  sitting  at  liome  all  the  morning  in  state,  and  in  company 
with  a  Polish  colonel,  who  lived  in  his  hotel,  and  whom  Philip 
had  selected  to  be  his  second  in  case  the  battle  of  the  previous 
night  should  have  any  suite.  He  had  left  that  colonel  in  com- 
pany with  a  bag  of  tobacco  and  an  order  for  unlimited  beer, 
whilst  he  himself  ran  up  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  beloved. 
The  Bayneses  had  not  heard  of  the  battle  of  the  previous  night. 
They  were  full  of  the  ball,  of  Lord  Estridge's  affability,  of  the 
Golconda  ambassador's  diamonds,  of  the  appearance  of  the 
royal  princes  who  honored  the  fete,  of  the  most  fashionable 
Paris  talk  in  a  word.  Philip  was  scolded,  snubbed,  and  coldly 
received  by  mamma  ;  but  he  was  used  to  that  sort  of  treat- 
ment, and  greatly  relieved  by  finding  that  she  was  unacquainted 
with  his  own  disorderly  behavior.  He  did  not  tell  Charlotte 
about  the  quarrel  :  a  knowledge  of  it  might  alarm  the  little 
maiden  ;  and  so  for  once  our  friend  was  discreet,  and  held  his 
tongue. 

But  if  he  had  any  influence  with  the  editor  of  Gatignam  s 
Messmger,  why  did  he  not  entreat  the  conductors  of  that  admir- 
able journal  to  forego  all  mention  of  the  fracas  at  the  Embassy 
ball .'  Two  days  after  the  fete,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  there  appeared 
a  paragraph  in  the  paper  narrating  the  circumstances  of  the 
fight.  And  the  guilty  Philip  found  a  copy  of  that  paper  on  the 
table  before  Mrs.  Baynes  and  the.  General  when  he  came  to  the 
Champs  Elyse'es  according  to  his  wont.  Behind  that  paper  sat 
Major-General  Baynes,  C.B.,  looking  confused,  and  beside  him 
his  lady  frowning  like  Rhadamanthus.  But  no  Charlotte  was 
in  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

INFANDI     DOLORES, 


Philip's  heart  beat  very  quickly  at  seeing  this  grim  pair, 
and  the  guilty  newspaper  before  them,  on  which  Mrs.  ]>aynes' 
lean  right  hand  was  laid.  "  So,  sir,"  she  cried,  "  you  still 
honor  us  with  your  company:  after  distinguishing  yourself  as 


404 


THE  ADVEiYTURES  OF  PiniJP 


you  did  the  night  before  last.  Fighting  and  boxing  like  a 
porter  at  his  Excellency's  ball.  It's  disgusting!  I  have  no 
other  word  for  it :  disgusting !  "  And  here  I  suppose  she 
nudged  the  General,  or  gave  him  some  look  or  signal  by  which 
he  knew  he  was  to  come  into  action  ;  for  Baynes  straightway 
advanced  and  delivered  his  fire. 

"  Faith,  sir,  more  bub-ub-blackguard  conduct  I  never  heard 
of  in  my  life  1  That's  the  only  word  for  it :  the  only  word  for 
it,"  cries  Baynes. 

"  The  General  knows  what  blackguard  conduct  is,  and 
yours  is  that  conduct,  Mr.  Firniin  !  It  is  all  over  the  town  :  is 
talked  of  everywhere  :  will  be  in  all  the  newspapers.  When  his 
lordship  heard  of  it,  he  was  furious.  Never,  never,  will  you  be 
admitted  into  the  Embassy  again,  after  disgracing  yourself  as 
you  have  done,"  cries  the  lady. 

"  Disgracing   yourself,  that's   the    word. — And  disgraceful 

your  conduct  was,  begad  !  "  cries  the  officer  second  in  command. 

"  You  don't  know  my  provocation,"  pleaded  poor  Philip. 

"  As   I  came  up  to  him  Twysden  was  boasting  that  he  had 

struck  me — and — and  laughing  at  me." 

"  And  a  pretty  figure  you  were  to  come  to  a  ball.  Who 
could  help  laughing,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  bragged  of  having  insulted  me,  and  I  lost  my  temper, 
and  struck  him  in  return.  The  thing  is  done  and  can't  be 
helped,"  growled  Philip. 

"  Strike  a  little  man  before  ladies  !  Very  brave  indeed  !  " 
cries  the  lady. 

"  Mrs.  Baynes  !  " 

"  I  call  it  cowardly.  In  the  army  we  consider  it  cowardly 
to  quarrel  before  ladies,"  continues  Mrs.  General  B. 

"  I  have  waited  at  home  for  two  days  to  see  if  he  wanted 
any  more,"  groaned  Philip. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  After  insulting  and  knocking  a  little  man  down, 
you  want  to  murder  him  !  And  you  call  that  the  conduct  of  a 
Christian — the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  !  " 

"  The  conduct  of  a  ruffian,  by  George  !  "  says  General  Baynes, 
"  It  was  prudent  of  you  to  choose  a  very  little  man,  and  to 
have  the  ladies  within  hearing  ! "  continues  Airs.  Baynes.  "  Why, 
I  wonder  you  haxen't  beaten  my  dear  children  next.  Don't 
you,  General,  wonder  he  has  not  knocked  down  our  poor  boys  .^ 
They  are  quite  small.  And  it  is  evident  that  ladies  being  pres- 
ent is  no  hindrance  to  Mr.  Firmin's  boxing-77iaichcs.'' 

"  The  conduct  is  gross  and  unworthy  of  a  gentleman," 
reiterates  the  General. 


OJV  HIS  U'A  Y  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


405 


*'  You  hear  what  that  man  says — that  old  man,  who  never 
says  an  unkind  word  ?  That  veteran,  who  has  been  in  twenty 
battles,  and  never  struck  a  man  before  women  yet  ?  Did  you, 
Charles  ?  He  has  given  you  his  opinion.  He  has  called  you  a 
name  which  I  won't  soil  my  lips  with  repeating,  but  which  you 
deserve.  And  do  you  suppose,  sir,  that  I  will  give  my  blessed 
child  to  a  man  who  has  acted  as  you  have  acted,  and  been 

called  a ?  Charles  !  General !  I  will  go  to  my  grave  rather 

than  see  my  daughter  given  up  to  a  such  a  man  !  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  said  Philip,  his  knees  trembling  under 
him.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  intend  to  go  from  your 
word,  and "• 

"  Oh  !  you  threaten  about  money  do  you  ?  Because  your 
father  was  a  cheat,  you  intend  to  try  and  make  us  suffer,  do 
you  ?  "  shrieks  the  lady.  "  A  man  who  strikes  a  little  man  be- 
fore ladies  will  commit  any  act  of  cowardice,  I  dare  say.  And 
if  you  wish  to  beggar  my  family,  because  your  father  was  a 
rogue " 

"  My  dear  !  "  interposes  the  General. 

"  Wasn't  he  a  rogue,  Baynes  ?  Is  there  any  denying  it  ? 
Haven't  you  said  so  a  hundred  and  a  hundred  times  1  A  nice 
family  to  marry  into  !  No,  Mr.  Firmin  !  You  may  insult  me 
as  you  please.  You  may  strike  little  men  before  ladies.  You 
may  lift  your  great  wicked  hand  against  that  poor  old  man,  in 
one  of  your  tipsy  fits  :  but  I  know  a  mother's  love,  a  mother's 
duty — and  I  desire  that  we  see  you  no  more." 

"  Great  Powers  !  "  cries  Philip,  aghast.  "  You  don't  mean 
to — to  separate  me  from  Charlotte,  General  ?  I  have  your 
word.  You  encouraged  me.  I  shall  break  my  heart.  I'll  go 
down  on  my  knees  to  that  fellow.  I'll — oh  ! — you  don't  mean 
what  you  say  !  "  And,  scared  and  sobbing,  the  poor  fellow 
clasped  his  strong  hands  together,  and  appealed  to  the  General. 

Baynes  was  under  his  wife's  eye.  "  I  think,"  he  said,  "your 
conduct  has  been  confoundedly  bad,  disorderly,  and  ungentle- 
manlike.  You  can't  support  my  child,  if  you  marry  her.  And 
if  you  have  the  least  spark  of  honor  in  you,  as  you  say  you 
have,  it  is  you,  Mr.  Firmin,  who  will  break  off  the  match,  and 
release  the  poor  child  from  certain  misery.  By  George,  sir, 
how  is  a  man  who  fights  and  quarrels  in  a  nobleman's  ball-room 
to  get  on  in  the  world  ?  How  is  a  man,  who  can't  afford  a  de- 
cent coat  to  his  back,  to  keep  a  wife  ?  The  more  I  have  known 
you,  the  more  I  have  felt  that  the  engagement  would  bring 
misery  upon  my  child !  Is  that  what  you  want  ?  A  man  of 
honor "  (^^ Honor !''  in  italics,  from  Mrs.   Baynes.)  "Husli, 


4o6  "rnP.   AD]  F.NTITRES  OF  PHILIP 

my  dear ! — A  man  of  spirit  would  give  her  up,  sir.  W'liat  have 
you  to  offer  but  beggary,  by  Oeorge  ?      Do  you  \vant  my  girl  to 

come  home  to  your  lodgings,  and  mend  your  clothes  ?  " "  I 

think  I  put  that  point  pretty  well,  Bunch,  my  boy,"  said  the 
General,  talking  of  the  matter  afterwards.    "  I  hit  him  there,  sir." 

The  old  soldier  did  indeed  strike  his  adversary  there  with  a 
vital  stab.  Philip's  coat,  no  doubt,  was  ragged,  and  his  purse 
but  light.  He  had  sent  money  to  his  father  out  of  his  small 
stock.  There  were  one  or  two  servants  in  the  old  house  in 
Parr  Street,  who  had  been  left  without  their  wages,  and  a  part 
of  these  debts  Philip  had  paid.  He  knew  his  own  violence  of 
temper,  and  his  unruly  independence.  He  thought  very  humbly 
of  his  talents,  and  often  doubted  of  his  capacity  to  get  on  in 
the  world.  In  his  less  hopeful  moods,  he  trembled  to  think 
that  he  might  be  bringing  poverty  and  unhappiness  upon  his 
dearest  little  maiden,  for  whom  he  w-ould  joyfully  have  sacrificed 
his  blood,  his  life.  Poor  Philip  sank  back  sickening  and  faint- 
ing almost  under  Kaynes's  words. 

"  You'll  let  me — you'll  let  me  see  her  ?  "  he  gasped  out. 

"  She's  unwell.  She  is  in  her  bed.  She  can't  appear  to- 
day !  "  cried  the  mother. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Paynes!  I  must — I  must  see  her,"  Philip  said  ; 
and  fairly  broke  out  in  a  sob  of  pain. 

"  This  is  the  man  that  strikes  men  before  women  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Baynes.     "  Very  courageous,  certainly  !  " 

"By  George,  Eliza!"  the  General  cried  out,  starting  up, 
"  its  too  bad " 

"  Infirm  of  purpose,  give  me  the  daggers  !  "  Philip  yelled 
out,  whilst  describing  the  scene  to  his  biographer  in  after  days. 
"  Macbeth  would  never  have  done  tlie  murders  but  for  that  lit- 
tle quiet  woman  at  his  side.  When  the  Indian  prisoners  are 
killed,  the  squaws  always  invent  the  worst  tortures.  You 
should  have  seen  that  fiend  and  her  livid  smile,  as  she  was 
drilling  her  gimlets  into  my  heart.  I  don't  know  how  I  of- 
fended her.  I  tried  to  like  her,  sir.  I  had  humbled  myself 
before  her.  I  went  on  her  errands.  I  played  cards  with  her. 
I  sat  and  listened  to  her  dreadful  stories  about  Barrackpore 
and  the  Governor-General.  I  wallowed  in  the  dust  before  her, 
and  she  hated  me.  I  can  see  her  face  now  :  her  cruel  yellow 
face,  and  her  sharp  teeth,  and  her  gray  eyes.  It  was  the  end 
of  August,  and  pouring  a  storm  that  day.  I  suppose  my  poor 
child  was  cold  and  suffering  up  stairs,  for  I  heard  the  poking  of 
a  fire  in  her  little  room.  \\'hen  I  hear  a  fire  poked  overhead 
now — iwent)'  years  after — the  whole  thing  comes  back  to  me  ; 


Oi\r  HIS  \VA  Y  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


407 


and  I  suffer  over  again  thai  infernal  a_L;ony.  Were  I  to  li\e  a 
thousand  years,  I  could  not  forgive  lier.  I  never  did  her  a 
wrong,  but  I  can't  forgive  her.  Ah,  my  heaven,  how  that  woman 
tortured  me  !  " 

"  I  think  I  know  one  or  two  similar  instances,"  said  Mr. 
Firmin's  biographer. 

"  You  are  always  speaking  ill  of  women,"  said  Mr.  Firmin's 
biographer's  wife. 

"  No,  thank  heaven  ! "  said  the  gentleman.  "  I  think  I 
know  some  of  whom  I  never  thought  or  spoke  a  word  of  evil. 
My  dear,  will  you  give  Philip  some  more  tea?  "  and  with  this 
the  gentleman's  narrative  is  resumed. 

The  rain  was  beating  down  the  avenue  as  Philip  went  into 
the  street.  He  looked  up  at  Charlotte's  window:  but  there 
was  no  sign.  There  was  a  flicker  of  a  fire  there.  The  poor 
girl  had  the  fever,  and  was  shuddering  in  her  little  room,  weep- 
ing and  sobbing  on  INfadame  Smolensk's  shoulder.  "  Que 
c'etait  pitie  a  voir,''  Madame  said.  Her  mother  had  told  her 
she  must  break  from  Philip  ;  had  invented  and  spoken  a  hun- 
dred calumnies  against  him  ;  declared  that  he  never  cared  for 
her  ;  that  he  had  loose  principles,  and  was  for  ever  haunting 
theatres  and  bad  company.  "  It's  not  true,  dear  mother,  it's 
not  true  !  "  the  little  girl  had  cried,  flaming  up  in  revolt  for  a 
moment :  but  she  soon  subsided  in  tears  and  misery,  utterly 
broken  by  the  thought  of  her  calamity.  Then  her  father  had 
been  brought  to  her,  who  had  been  made  to  believe  some  of 
the  stories  against  poor  Philip,  and  who  was  commanded  by  his 
wife  to  impress  them  upon  the  girl.  And  Baynes  tried  to  obey 
orders  ;  but  he  was  scared  and  cruelly  pained  by  the  sight  of 
his  little  maiden's  grief  and  suffering.  He  attempted  a  weak 
expostulation,  and  began  a  speech  or  two.  But  his  heart  failed 
him.  He  retreated  behind  his  wife.  She  never  hesitated  in 
speech  or  resolution,  and  her  language  became  more  bitter  as 
her  ally  faltered.  Philip  was  a  drunkard  ;  Philip  was  a  prodi- 
gal ;  Philip  was  a  frequenter  of  dissolute  haunts  and  loose 
companions.  She  had  the  best  authority  for  what  she  said. 
Was  not  a  mother  anxious  for  the  welfare  of  her  own  child  .'' 
("  Begad,  you  don't  suppose  your  own  mother  would  do  any- 
thing that  was  not  for  your  welfare,  now  ?  "  broke  in  the  Gen- 
eral, feebly.)  "  Do  you  think  if  he  had  not  been  drunk  he  would 
have  ventured  to  commit  such  an  atrocious  outrage  as  that  at 
the  Embassy  ?  And  do  you  suppose  I  want  a  drunkard  and  a 
beggar  to  marry  my  daughter  ?  Your  ingratitude,  C'liailotte, 
is  horrible  !  "    cries   mamma.     And   poor  Philip,  charged  with 


40cS  THE-  A  D  VENTURES  OF  PIf/L  II ' 

drunkenness,  had  dined  for  seventeen  sous,  with  a  carafon  of 
beer,  and  had  counted  on  a  supper  that  night  by  Httle  Char- 
lotte's side  :  so,  while  the  child  lay  sobbing  on  her  bed,  the 
mother  stood  over  her,  and  lashed  her.  for  General  Baynes, 
— a  brave  man,  a  kind-hearted  man, — -to  have  to  look  on  whilst 
this  torture  was  inflicted,  must  have  been  a  hard  duty.  He 
could  not  eat  the  boarding-house  dinner,  though  lie  took  his 
place  at  the  table  at  the  sound  of  the  dismal  bell.  Madame 
herself  was  not  present  at  the  meal  ;  and  you  know  poor  Char- 
lotte's place  was  vacant.  Her  father  went  up  stairs,  and  paused 
by  her  bedroom  door,  and  listened.  He  heard  murmurs  within, 
and  madame's  voice,  as  he  stumbled  at  the  door,  cried  harshl}', 
"  Qui  est  1^  }  "  He  entered.  Madame  was  sitting  on  the  bed, 
with  Charlotte's  head  on  her  lap.  The  thick  brown  tresses 
were  falling  over  the  child's  white  night-dress,  and  she  lay 
almost  motionless,  and  sobbing  feebly.  "  Ah,  it  is  you,  Gen- 
eral! "  said  madame.  "You  have  done  a  pretty  work,  sir  !  " 
"  Mamma  says,  won't  you  take  something,  Charlotte  dear  ?  " 
faltered  the  old  man,  "  Will  you  leave  her  tranquil !  "  said 
madam,  with  her  deep  voice.  The  father  retreated.  When 
madame  went  out  presently  to  get  that  panacea,  w/c  tasse  de 
the,  for  her  poor  little  friend,  she  found  the  old  gentleman 
seated  on  a  portmanteau  at  his  door.  "  Is  she — is  she  a  little 
better  now  ?  "  he  sobbed  out.  Madame  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
and  looked  down  on  the  veteran  with  superb  scorn.  '*  Vous 
n'etes  qu'un  poltron,  Ge'ne'ral !  "  she  said,  and  swept  down  stairs. 
Baynes  was  beaten  indeed.  He  was  suffering  horrible  pain. 
He  was  quite  unmanned,  and  tears  were  trickling  down  his  old 
cheeks  as  he  sat  wretchedly  there  in  the  dark.  His  wife  did 
not  leave  the  table  as  long  as  dinner  and  dessert  lasted.  She 
read  Galignani  resolutely  afterwards.  She  told  the  children 
not  to  make  a  noise,  as  their  sister  was  up  stairs  with  a  bad 
headache.  But  she  revoked  that  statement  as  it  were  (as  she 
revoked  at  cards  presently),  by  asking  the  Miss  Bolderos  to 
play  one  of  their  duets. 

I  wonder  whether  Philip  walked  up  and  down  before  the 
house  that  night }  Ah  !  it  was  a  dismal  night  for  all  of  them  • 
a  racking  pain,  a  cruel  sense  of  shame,  throbbed  under  Baynes's 
cotton  tassel  ;  and  as  for  Mrs.  Baynes,  T  hope  there  was  not 
much  rest  or  comfort  under  her  old  nightcap.  Madame  passed 
the  greater  part  of  the  night  in  a  great  chair  in  Charlotte's  bed- 
room, where  the  poor  child  heard  the  hours  toll  one  after  the 
other,  and  found  no  comfort  in  the  dreary  rising  of  the  dawn. 

At  a  very  early  hour  of  the  dismal  rainy  morning,  what  made 


ON  ins  WAY  Til Ro van  the  world. 


409 


poor  little  Charlotte  iiing  her  arms  round  inaclainc,  and  cry  out, 
"  Ah,  que  je  vous  aime  !  ah,  que  vous  etes  bonne,  niadame  !  " 
and  smile  almost  happily  throui;h  her  tears  ?  In  the  first  i)lace, 
niadame  went  to  Charlotte's  dressing-table,  whence  she  took 
a  pair  of  scissors.  Then  the  little  maid  sat  up  on  her  bed,  with 
her  brown  hair  clustering  over  her  shoulders;  and  madanie 
took  a  lock  of  it,  and  cut  a  thick  curl ;  and  kissed  poor  little 
Charlotte's  red  eyes  ;  and  laid  her  pale  cheek  on  the  pillow, 
and  carefully  covered  her;  and  bade  her,  with  many  tender 
words,  to  go  to  sleep.  "  If  you  are  very  good,  and  will  go  to 
sleep,  he  shall  have  it  in  half  an  hour,"  madame  said.  "And 
as  I  go  down  stairs,  I  will  tell  Frangoise  to  have  some  tea  ready 
for  you  when  you  ring."  And  this  promise,  and  the  thought  of 
what  madame  was  going  to  do,  comforted  Charlotte  in  her 
misery.  And  with  many  fond,  fond  prayers  for  Philip,  and  con- 
soled by  thinking,  "  Now  she  must  have  gone  the  greater  part 
of  the  way  ;  now  she  must  be  with  him  ;  now  he  knows  I  will 
never,  never  love  any  but  him,"  she  fell  asleep  at  last  on  her 
moistened  pillow  :  and  was  smiling  in  her  sleep,  and  I  dare  say 
dreaming  of  Philip,  when  the  noise  of  the  fall  of  a  piece  of 
furniture  roused  her,  and  she  awoke  out  of  her  dream  to  see 
the  grim  old  mother,  in  her  white  nightcap  and  white  dressing- 
gown,  standing  by  her  side. 

Never  mind.  "  She  has  seen  him  now.  She  has  told  him 
now,"  was  the  child's  very  first  thought  as  her  eyes  fairly 
opened.  "  He  knows  that  I  never,  never  will  think  of  any  but 
him."  She  felt  as  if  she  was  actually  there  in  Philip's  room, 
speaking  herself  to  him  ;  murmuring  vows  which  her  fond  lips 
had  whispered  many  and  many  a  time  to  her  lover.  And  now 
he  knew  she  would  never  break  them,  she  was  consoled  and 
felt  more  courage. 

"  You  have  had  some  sleep,  Charlotte  1 "  asks  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  asleep,  mamma."  As  she  speaks,  she 
feels  under  the  pillow  a  little  locket  containing — what  ?  I  sup- 
pose a  scrap  of  Mr.  Philip's  lank  hair. 

"  I  hope  you  are  in  a  less  wicked  frame  of  mind  than  when 
I  left  you  last  night,"  continues  the  matron. 

"Was  I  wicked  for  loving  Philip?  Then  I  an^  wicked  still, 
mamma  !  "  cries  the  child,  sitting  up  in  her  bed.  And  she 
clutches  that  little  lock  of  hair  which  nestles  under  her  pillow. 

"  What  nonsense,  child  !  This  is  what  you  get  out  of  your 
stupid  novels.  I  tell  you  he  does  not  think  about  you.  He  is 
quite  a  reckless,  careless  libertine." 

"Yes,  so  reckless  and  careless  that  we  owe  him   the  bread 


4IO 


riJK  AD]'E\Tl'RES  OF  PI  FT  LIP 


we  eat.  He  doesn't  think  of  nie  !  Doesn't  h.e  ?  Ah — "  Here 
she  paused  as  a  clock  in  a  neighboring  chamber  began  to  strike. 
"  Now,"  she  thought,  "  lie  has  got  my  message !  "  A  smile 
dawned  over  her  face.  She  sank  back  on  her  pillow,  turning 
her  liead  from  her  mother.  She  kissed  the  locket,  and  mur- 
mured :  "Not  think  of  me  !  Don't  you,  don't  you,  my  dear!  " 
She  did  not  heed  the  woman  by  her  side,  hear  her  voice,  or  for 
a  moment  seem  aware  of  her  presence.  Charlotte  was  away  ih 
Philip's  room  ;  she  saw  him  talking  with  her  messenger  ;  heard 
his  voice  so  deep  and  so  sweet ;  knew  that  the  promises  he  had 
spoken  he  never  would  break.  With  gleaming  eyes  and  flush- 
ing cheeks  she  looked  at  her  mother,  her  enemy.  She  held 
her  talisman  locket  and  pressed  it  to  her  heart.  No,  she  would 
never  be  untrue  to  him  !  No,  he  would  never,  never  desert  her  ! 
And  as  Mrs.  Baynes  looked  at  the  honest  indignation  beaming 
in  the  child's  face,  she  read  Charlotte's  revolt,  defiance,  per- 
haps victory.  The  meek  child  who  never  before  had  questioned 
an  order,  or  formed  a  wish  which  she  would  not  sacrilice  at  her 
mother's  order,  was  now  in  arms  asserting  independence.  But 
I  should  think  mamma  is  not  going  to  give  up  the  command 
after  a  single  act  of  revolt ;  and  that  she  will  try  more  attempts 
than  one  to  cajole  or  coerce  her  rebel. 

Meanwhile  let  Fancy  leave  the  talisman  locket  nestling  on 
Charlotte's  little  heart  (in  which  soft  shelter  methinks  it  were 
pleasant  to  linger).  Let  her  wrap  a  shawl  round  her,  and  affix 
to  her  feet  a  pair  of  stout  goloshes ;  let  her  walk  rapidly 
through  the  muddy  Champs  Elysdes,  where,  in  this  inclement 
season,  only  a  few  policemen  and  artisans  are  to  be  found 
moving.  Let  her  pay  a  halfpenny  at  the  Pont  des  Invalides, 
and  so  march  stoutly  along  the  quays,  by  the  Chamber  of  Dep- 
uties, where  as  yet  deputies  assemble  :  and  trudge  along  the 
river  side,  until  she  reaches  Seine  Street,  into  which,  as  you  all 
know,  the  Rue  Poussin  debouches.  This  was  the  road  brave 
Madame  Smolensk  took  on  a  gusty,  rainy  autumn  morning, 
and  on  foot,  for  five-franc  pieces  were  scarce  with  the  good 
woman.  Before  the  "  Hotel  Poussin  "  (ah,  giion  y  etait  hien  d, 
vingt  ans  !  )  is  a  little  painted  wicket  which  opens,  ringing,  and 
then  there  is  the  passage,  you  know,  with  the  stair  leading  to 
the  upper  regions,  to  Monsieur  Philippe's  room,  which  is  on 
the  first  floor,  as  is  that  of  Bouchard,  the  painter,  who  has  his 
atelier  over  the  way.  A  bad  painter  is  Bouchard,  but  a  worthy 
friend,  a  cheery  companion,  a  modest,  amiable  gentleman. 
And  a  rare  good  fellow  is  Laberge  of  the  second  floor,  the  poet 
from  Carcassonne,  who  pretends  to  be  studying  law,  but  whos« 


ON  JITS  WAY  TJfKOUGIf  T//E   WORLD. 


\\\ 


heart  is  with  the  Muses,  and  whose  talk  is  of  Victor  Hugo  and 
Alfred  de  Musset,  whose  verses  he  will  repeat  to  all  comers. 
Near  Laberge  (I  think  T  have  heard  Philip  say)  lived  Escasse, 
a  Southern  man  too — a  capitalist — a  clerk  in  a  bank,  quol ! — 
whose  apartment  was  decorated  sumptuously  with  his  own  fur- 
niture, who  had  Si^anish  wine  and  sausages  in  cupboards,  and 
a  bag  of  dollars  for  a  friend  in  need.  Is  Escasse  alive  still  ? 
Philip  Firmin  wonders,  and  that  old  Colonel,  who  lived  on  the 
same  floor,  and  who  had  been  a  prisoner  in  England  ?  What 
wonderful  descriptions  that  Colonel  Dujarret  had  of  les  Mecss 
Anglaises  and  their  singularities  of  dress  and  behavior  !  Though 
conquered  and  a  prisoner,  what  a  conqueror  and  enslaver  he 
was,  when  in  our  country  !  You  see,  in  his  rough  way,  Philip 
used  to  imitate  these  people  to  his  friends,  and  we  almost  fancied 
we  could  see  the  hotel  before  us.  It  was  very  clean ;  it  was 
very  cheap  ;  it  was  very  dark  ;  it  was  very  cheerful ; — capital 
coffee  and  bread-and-butter  for  breakfast  for  fifteen  sous ;  capi- 
tal bedroom  an  premier  for  thirty  francs  a  month — dinner  if 
you  would  for  I  forget  how  little,  and  a  merry  talk  round  the 
pipes  and  the  grog  afterwards — the  grog,  or  the  modest  eau 
sucree.  Here  Colonel  Dujarret  recorded  his  victories  over  both 
sexes.  Here  Colonel  Tymowski  sighed  over  his  enslaved  Po- 
land. Tymowski  was  the  second  who  was  to  act  for  Philip,  in 
case  the  Ringwood  Twysden  affair  should  have  come  to  any 
violent  conclusion.  Here  Laberge  bawled  poetry  to  Philip, 
who  no  doubt  in  his  turn  confided  to  the  young  Frenchman  his 
own  hopes  and  passion.  Deep  into  the  night  he  would  sit 
talking  of  his  love,  of  her  goodness,  of  her  beauty,  of  her  in- 
nocence, of  her  dreadful  mother,  of  her  good  old  father.  Que 
sfais-j'e?  Have  we  not  said  that  when  this  man  had  anything 
on  his  mind,  straightway  he  bellowed  forth  his  opinions  to  the 
universe  ?  Philip,  away  from  his  love,  would  roar  out  her 
praises  for  hours  and  hours  to  Laberge,  until  the  candles  burned 
down,  until  the  hour  for  rest  was  come  and  could  be  delayed 
no  longer.  Then  he  would  hie  to  bed  with  a  prayer  for  her; 
and  the  very  instant  he  awoke  begin  to  think  of  her,  and  bless 
her,  and  thank  God  for  her  love.  Poor  as  Mr.  Philip  was,  yet 
as  the  possessor  of  health,  content,  honor,  and  that  priceless 
pure  jewel  the  girl's  love,  I  think  we  will  not  pity  him  much  ; 
though,  on  the  night  when  he  received  his  dismissal  from  Mrs. 
Paynes,  he  must  have  passed  an  awful  time,  to  be  sure.  Toss, 
Philip,  on  your  bed  of  pain,  and  doubt,  and  fear.  Toll,  heavy 
hours,  from  night  till  dawn.  Ah!  'twas  a  weary  night  through 
which  two  sad  young  hearts  heard  you  tolling. 


412 


THE  AD  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


At  a  pretty  early  hour  the  various  occupants  of  the  crilj  at 
the  Rue  Poussin  used  to  appear  in  the  dingy  little  salle-a-man- 
ger,  and  partake  of  tlie  breakfast  there  provided.  Monsieur 
Menou,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  shared  and  distributed  the  meal. 
Madame  Menou,  with  a  Madras  handkerchief  round  her  griz- 
zling head,  laid  down  the  smoking  coftee  on  the  shining  oil- 
cloth, whilst  each  guest  helped  himself  out  of  a  little  museum  of 
napkins  to  his  own  particular  towel.  The  room  was  small :  the 
breakfast  was  not  fine  :'  the  guests  who  partook  of  it  were  cer- 
tainly not  remarkable  for  the  luxury  of  clean  linen  ;  but  Philip 
— who  is  many  years  older  now  than  when  he  dwelt  in  this 
hotel,  and  is  not  pinched  for  money  at  all  you  will  be  pleased 
to  hear,  (and  between  ourselves  has  become  rather  a  gour- 
mand),— declares  he  was  a  very  happy  youth  at  this  humble 
"  Hotel  Poussin,"  and  sighs  for  the  days  when  he  was  sighing 
for  Miss  Charlotte. 

Well,  he  has  passed  a  dreadful  night  of  gloom  and  terror. 
I  doubt  that  he  has  bored  Laberge  very  much  with  his  tears 
and  despondency.  And  now  morning  has  come,  and,  as  he  is 
having  his  breakfast  with  one  or  more  of  the  before-named 
worthies,  the  little  l)oy-of-all-work  enters,  grinning,  his  plumet 
under  his  arm,  and  cries  "  Une  dame  pour  M.  Philippe  !  " 

"  Une  dame !  "  says  the  French  colonel,  looking  up  from 
his  paper.     "  Allez,  mauvais  sujet !  " 

"  Grand  Dieu  !  what  has  happened  t  "  cries  Philip,  running 
forward,  as  he  recognizes  Madame's  tall  figure  in  the  passage. 
They  go  up  to  his  room,  I  suppose,  regardless  of  the  grins  and 
sneers  of  the  little  boy  with  the  phimef,  who  aids  the  maid- 
servant to  make  the  beds ;  and  who  thinks  Monsieur  Philippe 
has  a  very  elderly  acquaintance. 

Philip  closes  the  door  upon  his  visitor,  who  looks  at  him 
with  so  much  hope,  kindness,  confidence  in  her  eyes,  that  the 
poor  fellow  is  encouraged  almost  ere  she  begins  to  speak. 
"  Ves,  you  have  reason  ;  I  come  from  the  little  person,"  Mad- 
ame Smolensk  saick  "  The  means  of  resisting  that  poor  dear 
angel  !  She  has  passed  a  sad  night !  What  ?  Vou,  too,  have 
not  been  to  bed,  poor  young  man  !  "  Indeed  Philip  had  only 
thrown  himself  on  his  bed,  and  had  kicked  there,  and  had 
groaned  there,  and  had  tossed  there  ;  and  had  tried  to  read, 
and,  1  dare  say,  remembered  afterwards,  with  a  strange  interest, 
the  book  he  read,  and  that  other  thought  which  was  throbbing 
in  his  brain  all  the  time  whilst  he  was  reading,  and  whilst  the 
wakeful  hours  went  wearily  tolling  by. 

'"  No,  in  effect,"  says  poor  Philip,  rolling  a  dismal  cigar 


ox  HIS  WAY  TIIROLTGIf  THE   WORLD. 


413 


ette ;  "  the  night  has  not  been  too  fine.  And  she  has  sutlered 
too  ?  Heaven  bless  her  !  "  And  then  Madame  Smolensk  told 
how  the  little  dear  angel  had  cried  all  the  night  long,  and  how 
the  Smolensk  had  not  succeeded  in  comforting  her,  until  she 
promised  she  would  go  to  Philip,  and  tell  him  that  his  Char- 
lotte would  be  his  for  ever  and  ever  ;  that  she  never  could  think 
of  any  man  but  him  ;  that  he  was  the  best,  and  the  dearest, 
and  the  bravest,  and  the  truest  Philip,  and  that  she  did  not  be- 
lieve one  word  of  those  wicked  stories  told  against  him  by 

"  Hold,  Monsieur  Philippe,  I  suppose  Madame  la  Ge'ne'rale 
has  been  talking  about  you,  and  loves  you  no  more,''  cried 
Madame  Smolensk.  '*  We  other  women  are  assassins — assas- 
sins, see  you  !  But  Madame  la  Generale  went  too  far  with  the 
little  maid.  She  is  an  obedient  little  maid,  the  dear  Miss  ! — trem- 
bling before  her  mother,  and  always  ready  to  yield — only  now 
her  spirit  is  roused  •  and  she  is  yours  only.  The  little  dear, 
gentle  child  !  Ah,  how  pretty  she  was,  leaning  on  my  shoulder. 
I  held  her  there — yes,  there,  my  poor  gar^on,  and  I  cut  this 
from  her  neck,  and  brought  it  to  thee.  Come,  embrace  me. 
Weep;  that  does  good,  Philip.  I  love  thee  well.  Go — and 
thy  little — it  is  an  angel  !  "  And  so,  in  the  hour  of  their  pain, 
myriads  of  manly  hearts  have  found  woman's  love  ready  to 
soothe  their  anguish. 

Leaving  to  Philip  that  thick  curling  lock  of  brown  hair, 
(from  a  head  where  now,  mayhap,  there  is  a  line  or  two  of 
matron  silver,)  this  Samaritan  plods  her  way  back  to  her  own 
house,  where  her  own  cares  await  her.  But  though  the  way  is 
long,  madame's  step  is  lighter  now,  as  she  thinks  how  Char- 
lotte at  the  journey's  end  is  waiting  for  news  of  Philip  ;  and  I 
suppose  there  are  more  kisses  and  embraces,  when  the  good 
soul  meets  with  the  little  suffering  girl,  and  tells  her  how  Philip 
will  remain  for  ever  true  and  faithful ;  and  how  true  love  must 
come  to  a  happy  ending ;  and  how  she,  Smolensk,  will  do  all 
in  her  power  to  aid,  comfort,  and  console  her  young  friends. 
As  for  the  writer  of  Mr.  Philip's  memoirs,  you  see  I  never  try 
to  make  any  concealments.  1  have  told  you,  all  along,  that 
Charlotte  and  Philip  are  married,  and  I  believe  they  are  happy. 
But  it  Is  certain  that  they  suffered  dreadfully  at  this  time  of 
their  lives  ;  and  my  wife  says  that  Charlotte,  if  she  alludes  to 
the  period  and  the  trial,  speaks  as  though  they  had  both  under- 
gone some  hideous  operation,  the  remembrance  of  which  for 
ever  causes  a  pang  to  the  memory.  So,  my  young  lady,  will 
you  have  your  trial  one  day,  to  be  borne,  pray  heaven,  with  a 
meek  spirit.     Ah,  how  surely  the   turn  comes   to  all  of  us ! 


414 


THE  ADFEjVTURES  OE  PfflLIP 


Look  at  Maaamc  Smolensk  at  her  luncheon-table,  this  day 
after  her  visit  to  Philip  at  his  lodging,  after  comforting  little 
Charlotte  in  her  pain.  How  brisk  she  is  !  How  good-natured  ! 
How  she  smiles  !  How  she  speaks  to  all  her  company,  and 
carves  for  her  guests  !  You  do  not  suppose  she  has  no  griefs 
and  cares  of  her  own  ?  You  know  better.  I  dare  say  she  is 
thinking  of  her  creditors  ;  of  her  poverty  ;  of  that  accepted 
hill  which  will  come  due  next  week,  and  so  forth.  The  Samari- 
tan who  rescues  you,  most  likely,  has  been  robbed  and  has 
bled  in  liis  day,  and  it  is  a  wounded  arm  that  bandages  yours 
when  bleeding. 

If  Anatole,  the  boy  who  scoured  the  plain  at  the  "  Hotel 
Poussin,"  with  his  pliimet  \\\  his  jacket-pocket,  and  his  slippers 
soled  with  scrubbing  brushes,  saw  the  embrace  between  Philip 
and  his  good  friend,  I  believe,  in  his  experience  at  that  hotel, 
he  never  witnessed  a  transaction  more  honorable,  generous,  and 
blameless.  Put  what  construction  you  will  on  the  business, 
Anatole,  you  little  imp  of  mischief !  your  mother  never  gave 
you  a  kiss  more  tender  than  that  which  Madame  Smolensk 
bestowed  on  Philip — than  that  which  she  gave  Philip — than 
that  which  she  carried  back  from  him  and  faithfully  placed  on 
poor  little  Charlotte's  pale  round  cheek.  The  world  is  full  of 
love  and  pity,  I  say.  Had  there  been  less  suffering,  there 
would  have  been  less  kindness.  I,  for  one,  almost  wish  to  be 
ill  again,  so  that  the  friends  who  succored  me  might  once  more 
come  to  my  rescue. 

To  poor  little  wounded  Charlotte  in  her  bed,  our  friend  the 
mistress  of  the  boarding-house  brought  back  inexpressible 
comfort.  Whatever  might  betide,  Philip  would  never  desert 
her  !  "  Think  you  I  would  ever  have  gone  on  such  an  embassy 
for  a  P'rench  girl,  or  interfered  between  her  and  her  parents .-'  " 
madame  asked.  "  Never,  never !  But  you  and  Monsieur 
J'liilippe  are  already  betrothed  before  heaven;  and  I  should 
despise  you,  Charlotte,  I  should  despise  him,  were  either  to 
draw  back."  This  little  point  being  settled  in  Miss  Charlotte's 
mind,  1  can  fancy  she  is  innnensely  soothed  and  comforted  ; 
that  hope  and  courage  settle  in  her  heart ;  that  the  color  comes 
back  to  her  young  cheeks  ;  that  she  can  come  and  join  her 
family  as  she  did  yesterday.  "  I  told  you  she  never  cared 
about  him,"  says  Mrs.  Baynes  to  her  husband.  "  Faith,  no : 
she  can't  have  cared  for  him  nmch,"  says  Baynes,  with  some- 
thing of  a  sorrow  that  his  girl  should  be  so  light-minded.  But 
you  and  I,  who  have  been  behind  the  scenes,  who  have  peeped 
into  Philip's  bedroom  and  beliind  poor  Charlotte's  modest  cur- 


Oy  ins  WAY  THROUGH  TIfE   IVOKf.D.  415 

tains,  know  that  the  girl  had  revolted  from  her  parents  ;  and 
so  children  will  if  the  authority  exercised  over  them  is  too 
tyrannical  or  unjust.  Gentle  Charlotte,  who  scarce  ever  re- 
sisted, was  aroused  and  in  rebellion  :  honest  Charlotte,  who 
used  to  speak  all  her  thoughts,  now  hid  them,  and  deceived 
father  and  mother; — yes,  deceived:  —  what  a  confession  to 
make  regarding  a  young  lady,  the  prima  donna  of  our  opera  ! 
Mrs.  Baynes  is,  as  usual,  writing  her  lengthy  scrawls  to  sister 
MacWhirter  at  Tours,  and  informs  the  Major's  lady  that  she 
has  very  great  satisfaction  in  at  last  being  able  to  announce 
"  that  that  most  imprudent  and  in  all  respects  ineligible  engage- 
ment between  her  Charlotte  and  a  certain  young  man,  son  of  a 
bankrupt  London  physician,  is  come  to  an  end.  Mr.  F's  con- 
duct has  been  so  wild,  so  gross,  so  disorderly  and  ungcnileman- 
likc,  that  the  General  (and  you  know,  Maria,  how  soft  and 
sweet  a  tempered  man  Baynes  is)  has  told  Mr.  Firmin  his  opinion 
in  unmistakable  words,  and  forbidden  him  to  continue  his  visits. 
After  seeing  him  every  day  for  six  months,  during  which  time 
she  has  accustomed  herself  to  his  peculiarities,  and  his  often 
coarse  and  odious  expressions  and  conduct,  no  wonder  the 
separation  has  been  a  shock  to  dear  Char,  though  I  believe  the 
young  man  feels  nothing  who  has  been  the  cause  of  all  this  grief. 
That  he  cares  but  little  for  her,  has  been  my  opinion  all  along, 
though  she,  artless  child,  gave  him  her  whole  affection.  He 
has  been  accustomed  to  throw  over  women  ;  and  the  brother 
of  a  young  lady  whom  Mr.  Y.  had  courted  and  left  (and  who  ha? 
made  a  most  excellent  match  since),  showed  his  indignation  at 
Mr.  F.'s  conduct  at  the  Embassy  ball  the  other  night,  on  which 
the  young  man  took  advantage  of  his  greatly  superior  size  and 
strength  to  begin  a  vulgar  boxing-match,  in  which  both  parties 
were  severely  wounded.  Of  course  you  saw  the  paragraph  in 
Galignani  about  the  whole  affair.  I  sent  our  dresses,  but  it  did 
not  print  them,  though  our  names  appeared  as  amongst  the 
company.  Anything  more  singular  than  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  F.  you  cannot  well  imagine.  I  wore  my  garnets  ;  Char- 
lotte (who  attracted  universal  admiration)  was  in  &c.,  &c.  Of 
course  the  separation  has  occasioned  her  a  good  deal  of  pain  ; 
for  Mr.  F.  certainly  behaved  with  much  kindness  and  forbear- 
ance on  a  previous  occasion.  But  the  General  will  not  hear 
of  the  continuance  of  the  connection.  He  says  the  young 
man's  conduct  has  been  too  gross  and  shameful  ;  and  when 
once  roused,  you  know,  I  might  as  well  attempt  to  chain  a  tiger 
as  Baynes.  Our  poor  Char  will  suffer  no  doubt  in  consequence 
of  the  behavior  of  this  brute,  but  she  has  ever  been  an  obedient 


4i6  THE  AIIVF.XTURES  OF  PHILIP 

child,  who  knows  how  to  honor  her  father  and  mother.  She 
bears  up  wonderfully^  though,  of  course,  the  dear  child  sulTers 
at  the  parting.  I  think  if  she  were  to  go  to  you  and  AlaeWhirier 
at  Tours  for  a  month  or  two,  she  would  be  all  the  better  for 
change  of  air,  too,  dear  Mac.  Come  and  fetch  her,  and  we  will 
pay  the  dawk.  She  would  go  to  certain  poverty  and  wretched- 
ness did  she  marry  this  most  violent  and  disreputable  young 
man.     The  General  sends  regards  to  Mac,  and  I  am,"  &c. 

That  these  were  the  actual  words  of  Mrs.  Baynes's  letter  I 
cannot,  as  a  veracious  biographer,  take  upon  myself  to  say.  I 
never  saw  the  document,  though  I  have  had  the  good  fortune 
to  peruse  others  from  the  same  hand.  Charlotte  saw  the  letter 
some  time  after,  upon  one  of  those  not  unfrequent  occasions, 
when  a  quarrel  occurred  between  the  two  sisters — Mrs.  Major 
and  Mrs.  General — and  Charlotte  mentioned  the  contents  of 
the  letter  to  a  friend  of  mine  who  has  talked  to  me  about  his 
affairs,  and  especially  his  love  affairs,  for  many  and  many  a 
1  )ng  hour.  And  shrewd  old  woman  as  Mrs.  Baynes  may  be, 
you  may  see  how  utterly  she  was  mistaken  in  fancying  that  her 
daughter's  obedience  was  still  secure.  The  little  maid  had 
left  father  and  mother,  at  first  with  their  eager  sanction  ;  her 
love  had  been  given  to  Firmin  ;  and  an  inmate — a  prisoner  if 
you  will — under  her  father's  roof,  her  heart  remained  with 
Philip,  however  time  or  distance  might  separate  them. 

And  now,  as  we  have  the  command  of  Philip's  desk,  and 
are  free  to  open  and  read  the  private  letters  which  relate  to  his 
history,  T  take  leave  to  put  in  a  document  which  was  penned 
in  his  place  of  exile  by  his  worthy  father,  upon  receiving  the 
news  of  the  quarrel  described  in  the  last  chapter  of  these 
memoirs  : — 

A  star  [tonse,  Nav  York^  September  27. 
'■  Dear  Philip, — I  received  the  news  in  your  last  kind  and  affectionate  letter  with  not 
unmingled  pleasure  :  l)ut  ah,  what  pleasure  in  life  does  not  carry  its  ainari  aliquid  alonj; 
with  it !  Tliat  you  are  hearty,  cheerful,  and  industrious,  earning  a  .small  competence,  I  am 
pleased  indeed  to  think :  that  you  talk  about  being  married  to  a  penniless  gul  I  can't  say 
gives  me  a  very  sincere  pleasure.  With  your  good  looks,  good  manners,  attainments,  you 
might  have  hoped  for  a  better  inatch  than  a  half-jiay  officer's  daughter.  P.ut  'tis  useless 
speculating  on  what  might  have  buen.  We  are  puppets  in  the  hands  of  fate,  most  of  us.  We 
are  carried  along  by  a  power  stronger  than  ourselves.  It  lias  driven  me,  at  sixty  years  of 
age,  from  competence,  general  resjiect,  high  position,  to  jioverty  and  exile.  So  be  it ! 
laiido  }>tane>tSe»i,  as  my  delightful  old  friend  and  ])hilosophcr  teaches  me — si  celeres  qiiaiit 
(teniias — you  know  the  rest.  Whatever  our  fortune  may  l)e,  I  hope  tlial  my  Philip  and  his 
father  will  bear  it  with  the  courage  of  gentlemen. 

■'(Jur  papers  have  announced  the  death  of  your  poor  mother's  uncle,  Lord  Ringwood, 
and  I  had  a  fond  lingering  hope  that  he  might  have  left  some  token  of  remembraiu  e  to  his 
brother's  grandson.  He  has  not.  Vou  have  proham  pauperiem  sine  dote.  You  have 
courage,  health,  strength,  and  talent.  1  was  in  greater  straits  than  you  are  at  your  age. 
My  father  was  not  as  indulgent  as  yours,  I  hope  and  trust,  has  been.  From  debt  and 
dependence  I  worked  myself  up  to  a  proud  position  by  my  own  efforts.  That  the  storm 
i)vertook  me   and   engulphed    me   afterwards,  is  Irue.     But  I  am   like  the  merchant  of  my 


ON  HIS  IVA  Y  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


4n 


favorit ;  poet :  I  still  hope — ay,  at  63  ! — to  mend  my  shattered  shi]K,  inJoci/is  /au/ieriem 
pati.  I  still  hope  to  pay  back  to  my  dear  boy  that  fortune  which  ought  to  have  been  his,  and 
which  went  down  in  my  own  shipwreck.     Something  tells  me  I  must — I  will  ! 

"I  agree  with  you  that  your  escape  from  Agnes  Twysden  has  \>^ttv\  z.  piece  of  good 
foriutie  for  you,  and  am  much  diverted  by  your  account  of  lier  dusky  inamorato ! 
Between  ourselves,  the  fondness  of  the  Twysdens  for  money  amounted  to  meanness.  And 
though  1  always  received  Twysden  in  dear  old  Parr  Street,  as  I  trust  a  gentleman  should, 
his  company  was  insufferably  tedious  to  me,  and  his  vulgar  loquacity  odious.  His  son  also 
was  little  to  my  taste.  Indeed  I  was  heartily  relieved -whew  I  found  your  coimection  with 
that  family  was  over,  knowing  their  rapacity  about  money,  and  that  it  was  your  fortune,  not 
you,  they  were  anxious  to  secure  for  Agnes. 

"  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am  in  not  inconsiderable  practice  already.  My  reputa- 
tion as  a  physician  had  preceded  me  to  this  country.  My  work  on  Gout  was  favorably 
noticed  here,  and  in  Philadelphia,  and  in  Boston,  by  the  scientific  journals  of  those  great 
cities.  People  are  more  generous  and  compassionate  towards  misfortune  here  than  in  our 
cold-hearted  island.  I  could  mention  several  gentlemen  of  New  York  who  have  suffered 
shipwreck  like  myself,  and  are  now  prosperous  and  respected.  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  be 
of  considerable  professional  service  to  Colonel  J.  B.  Fogle,  of  New  York,  on  our  voyage 
out  ;  and  the  Colonel,  who  is  a  leading  personage  here,  has  shown  himself  not  at  all  ungrate- 
ful. Those  who  fancy  that  at  New  York  people  cannot  appreciate  and  understand  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman,  are  ttoi  a  little  mistaken  ;  and  a  man  who,  like  myself,  has  lived 
with  the  best  society  in  London,  has,  I  flatter  myself,  not  lived  in  that  society  t/7(ite  i>i  vain. 
The  Colonel  is  proprietor  and  editor  of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  influential  journals  of 
the  city.  You  know  that  arms  and  the  toga  are  often  worn  here  by  the  same  individual, 
and 

■'  I  had  actually  written  thus  far  when  I  read  in  the  Colonel's  paper — .Ve7t<  York 
Etnerald — an  account  of  your  battle  with  your  cousin  at  the  Embassy  ball !  Oh,  you 
pugnacious  Philip!  Well,  young  Twysden  was  very  vulgar,  very  rude  and  overbearing, 
and,  I  have  no  doubt,  deserved  the  chastisement  you  gave  him.  By  the  way,  the  correspon- 
dent of  the  £/«4'>-(z/</ makes  some  droll  blunders  regarding  you  in  his  letter.  We  are  all 
fair  game  for  publicity  in  this  country,  where  the  press  is  free  with  a  z'engeance  ;  and  your 
private  affairs,  or  mine,  or  the  President's,  or  our  gracious  Queen's,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
4ire  discussed  with  a  freedom  which  certainly  a;«o««/j  to  licence.  The  Colonel's  lady  is 
passing  the  winter  in  Paris,  where  I  should  wish  you  to  pay  your  respects  to  her.  Her 
husband  has  been  most  kind  to  me.  I  am  told  that  Mrs.  F.  lives  in  the  very  choicest  French 
society,  and  the  friendship  of  this  family  may  be  useful  to  you  as  to  your  affectionate  father, 

"G.  B.  F. 

"Address  as  usual,  until  you  hear  further  from  me,  as  Dr.  Brandon,  New  York.  I 
-wonder  whether  Lord  Estridge  has  asked  you  after  his  old  college  friend?  When  he  was 
Headbury  and  at  Trinity,  he  and  a  certain  pensioner  whom  men  used  to  nickname  Brum- 
mell  Firmin  were  said  to  be  the  best  dressed  men  in  the  university.  Estridge  has  advanced 
to  rank,  to  honors!  You  may  rely  on  it,  that  he  will  have  one  of  the  very  next  vacant 
garters.  What  a  different,  what  an  unfortunate  career,  has  been  his  quondam  friend's!  — 
an  exile,  an  inhabitant  of  a  small  room  in  a  great  hotel,  where  I  sit  at  a  scrambling  public 
table  with  all  sorts  of  coarse  people!  The  way  in  which  they  bolt  their  dinner,  often  with 
a  knife,  shocks  me.  Your  remittance  was  most  welcome,  small  as  it  was.  It  shows  my 
Philip  has  a  kind  heart.  Ah  1  why,  why  are  you  thinking  of  marriage,  who  are  so  poor? 
By  the  way,  your  encouraging  account  of  your  circumstances  has  induced  me  to  draw  upon 
you  for  100  dollars.  The  bill  will  go  to  Europe  by  the  packet  which  carries  this  letter,  and 
has  kindly  been  cashed  for  me  by  my  friends,  Messrs.  Plaster  and  Shinman,  of  Wall  Street, 
respected  bankers  of  this  city.  Leave  your  card  with  Mrs.  Fogle.  Her  husband  himself 
may  be  useful  to  you  and  your  ever  attached 

"  Father." 

We  take  the  Nezv  York  Etnerald  at  "  Bays's,"  and  in  it  I 
had  read  a  very  amusing  account  of  our  friend  Philip,  in  an 
ingenious  correspondence  entitled  "  Letters  from  an  Attache," 
which  appeared  in  that  journal.  I  even  copied  the  paragraph 
to  show  to  my  wife,  and  perhaps  to  forward  to  our  friend. 

"  I  promise  you,"  wn^e  the  attachtf,  "  the  new  country  did 
not  disgrace  the  old  at  the  British  Embassy  ball  on  Queen  Vic's 
birthday.     Colonel  Z.  JJ.  Hoggins's  ladv,  of  Albany,  and  the 

27 


4i8  THE  ADVENTURES  OE  P/ULrP 

peerless  bride  of  Elijah  J.  Dibbs,  of  Twenty-ninth  Street  in 
your  city,  were  the  observed  of  all  observers  for  splendor,  for 
elegance,  for  refined  native  beauty.  The  Royal  Dukes  danced 
with  nobody  else  ;  and  at  the  attention  of  one  of  the  Princes  to 
the  lovely  Miss  Dibbs,  I  observed  his  Royal  Duchess  looked 
as  black  as  thunder.  Supper  handsome.  Back  Delmonico  to 
beat  it.  Champagne  so-so.  By  the  way,  the  young  fellow  who 
writes  here  for  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette  got  too  much  of  the 
champagne  on  board — as  usual,  I  am  told.  The  Honorable  R. 
Twysden,  of  London,  was  rude  to  my  young  chap's  partner,  or 
winked  at  him  offensively,  or  trod  on  his  toe,  or  I  don't  know 
what — but  young  F.  followed  him  into  the  garden ;  hit  out  at 
him  ;  sent  him  flying  like  a  spread  eagle  into  the  midst  of  an 
illumination,  and  left  him  there  sprawling.  Wild,  rampageous 
fellow  this  young  F.  ;  has  already  spent  his  own  fortune,  and 
ruined  his  poor  old  father,  who  has  been  forced  to  cross  the 
water.  Old  Louis  Philippe  went  away  early.  He  talked  long 
with  our  Minister  about  his  travels  in  our  country.  I  was 
standing  by,  but  in  course  ain't  so  ill-bred  as  to  say  what 
passed  between  them." 

In  this  way  history  is  written.  I  dare  say  about  others 
besides  Philip,  in  English  papers  as  well  as  American,  have 
fables  been  narrated. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

CONTAINS    A    TUG    OF    WAR. 


Who  was  the  first  to  spread  the  report  that  Philip  was  a 
prodigal  and  had  ruined  his  poor  confiding  father  1  T  thought 
I  knew  a  ])erson  who  might  be  interested  in  getting  under  any 
shelier,  and  sacrificing  even  his  own  son  for  his  own  advantage, 
J  tliought  I  knew  a  man  who  had  done  as  much  already,  and 
surely  might  do  so  again  ;  but  my  wife  flew  into  one  of  her 
tempests  of  indignation,  when  I  hinted  something  of  this, 
clutched  her  own  children  to  her  heart,  accordingto  her  mater- 
nal wont,  asked  me  was  there  any  power  would  cause  me  to 
belie  them  ?  and  sternly  rebuked  me  for  daring  to  be  so  wicked, 
heartless,  and  cynical.  My  dear  creature,  wrath  is  no  answer. 
You  call  me  heartless  and  cynic,  for  saying  men  are  false  and 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  419 

ivicked.  Have  you  never  heard  to  wliat  lengths  some  bank 
rupts  will  go  ?  To  appease  the  vi^olves  who  chase  them  in  the 
winter  forest,  have  you  not  read  how  some  travellers  will  cast  all 
their  provisions  out  of  the  sledge  ?  then,  when  all  the  provis- 
ions are  gone,  don't  you  know  that  they  will  fling  out  perhaps 
the  sister,  perhaps  the  mother,  perhaps  the  baby,  the  little  dear 
tender  innocent  ?  Don't  you  see  him  tumbling  among  the  howl- 
ing pack,  and  the  wolves  gnashing,  gnawing,  crashing,  gobbling 
him  up  in  the  snow  ?  O  horror — horror  !  My  wife  draws  all  the 
young  ones  to  her  breast  as  I  utter  these  fiendish  remarks. 
She  hugs  them  in  her  embrace,  and  says,  "  For  shame  !  "  and 
that  I  am  a  monster,  and  so  on.  Go  to  !  Go  down  on  your 
knees,  woman,  and  acknowledge  the  sinfulness  of  our  human- 
kind. How  long  had  our  race  existed  ere  murder  and  vio- 
lence began  ?  and  how  old  was  the  world  ere  brother  slew 
brother  ? 

Well,  my  wife  and  I  came  to  a  compromise.  I  might  have 
my  opinion,  but  was  there  any  need  to  communicate  it  to  poor 
Philip  ?  No,  surely.  So  I  never  sent  him  the  extract  from 
the  New  York  Emerald;  though,  of  course,  some  other  good- 
natured  friend  did,  and  I  don't  think  my  magnanimous  friend 
cared  much.  As  for  supposing  that  his  own  father,  to  cover 
his  own  character,  would  lie  away  his  son's — such  a  piece  of 
artifice  was  quite  beyond  Philip's  comprehension,  who  has  been 
all  his  life  slow  in  appreciating  roguery,  or  recognizing  that 
there  is  meanness  and  double-dealing  in  the  world.  When  he 
once  comes  to  understand  the  fact ;  when  he  once  comprehends 
that  Tartuffe  is  a  humbug  and  swelling  Bufo  is  a  toady ;  then 
my  friend  becomes  as  absurdly  indignant  and  mistrustful  as 
before  he  was  admiring  and  confiding.  Ah,  Philip!  Tartuffe 
has  a  number  of  good,  respectable  qualities  ;  and  Bufo,  though 
an  underground  odious  animal,  may  have  a  precious  jewel  in 
his  head.  'Tis  you  are  cynical,  /see  the  good  qualities  in 
these  rascals  whom  you  spurn.  I  see.  I  shrug  my  shoulders, 
I  smile  :  and  you  call  me  cynic. 

It  was  long  before  Philip  could  comprehend  why  Charlotte's 
mother  turned  upon  him,  and  tried  to  force  her  daughter  to 
forsake  him.  "  I  have  offended  the  old  woman  in  a  hundred 
ways,"  he  would  say.  '"My  tobacco  annoys  her;  my  old 
clothes  offend  her ;  the  very  English  I  speak  is  often  Greek  to 
her,  and  she  can  no  more  construe  my  sentences  than  I  can  the 
Hindostanee  jargon  she  talks  to  her  husband  at  dinner.''  '*  My 
dear  fellow,  if  you  had  ten  thousand  a  year  she  would  try  and 
construe  your  sentences,  or  accept  them  even  if  not  understood," 


420 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILIP 


I  would  reply.  And  some  men,  whom  you  and  I  know  to  be. 
mean,  and  to  be  false,  and  to  be  flatterers  and  parasites,  and 
to  be  inexorably  hard  and  cruel  in  their  own  private  circles,  will 
surely  pull  a  long  face  to-morrow,  and  say,  "  Oh  !  the  man's  so 
cynical." 

I  acquit  Baynes  of  what  ensued.  I  hold  Mrs.  B.  to  have 
been  the  criminal  —  the  stupid  criminal.  The  husband,  like 
many  other  men  extremely  brave  in  active  life,  was  at  home 
timid  and  irresolute.  Of  two  heads  that  lie  side  by  side  on  the 
same  pillow  for  thirty  years,  one  must  contain  the  stronger 
power,  the  more  enduring  resolution.  Baynes,  away  from  his 
wife,  was  shrewd,  courageous,  gay  at  times  :  when  with  her  he 
was  fascinated,  torpid  under  the  power  of  this  baleful  superior 
creature.  "  Ah,  when  we  were  subs  together  in  camp  in  1803, 
what  a  lively  fellow  Charley  Baynes  was  !  "  his  comrade,  Col- 
onel Bunch,  would  say.  "  That  was  before  he  ever  saw  his 
wife's  yellow  face ;  and  what  a  slave  she  has  made  of  him !  " 

After  that  fatal  conversation  which  ensued  on  the  day  suc- 
ceeding the  ball,  Pliilip  did  not  come  to  dinner  at  Madame's 
according  to  his  custom.  Mrs.  Baynes  told  no  family  stories, 
and  Colonel  Bunch,  who  had  no  special  liking  for  the  young 
gentleman,  did  not  trouble  himself  to  make  any  inquiries  about 
him.  One,  two,  three  days  passed,  and  no  Philip.  At  last  the 
Colonel  says  to  the  General,  with  a  sly  look  at  Charlotte, 
"  Baynes,  where  is  our  young  friend  with  the  nmstache  ?  We 
have  not  seen  him  these  three  days."  And  he  gives  an  arch 
look  at  poor  Charlotte.  A  burning  blush  flamed  up  in  little 
Charlotte's  pale  face,  as  she  looked  at  her  parents  and  then  at 
their  old  friend.  "  Mr.  Firmin  does  not  come,  because  papa 
and  mamma  have  forbidden  him,"  says  Charlotte.  "  I  suppose 
he  only  comes  where  he  is  welcome."  And,  having  made  this 
audacious  speech,  I  suppose  the  little  maid  tossed  her  little 
head  up  ;  and  wondered,  in  the  silence  which  ensued,  whether 
all  the  company  could  hear  her  heart  thumping. 

Madame,  from  her  central  place,  where  she  \,^,  carving,  sees, 
from  the  looks  of  her  guests,  the  indignant  flushes  on  Charlotte's 
face,  the  confusion  on  her  father's,  the  wrath  on  Mrs.  Baynes's, 
that  some  dreadful  words  are  passing ;  and  in  vain  endeavors 
to  turn  the  angry  current  of  talk.  "  Un  petit  canard  de'licieux, 
goutez-en,  maciame !  "  she  cries.  Honest  Colonel  Bunch  sees 
the  little  maid  with  eyes  flashing  with  anger,  and  trembling  in 
every  limb.  The  offered  duck  having  failed  to  create  a  diver- 
sion, he,  too,  tries  a  feeble  commonplace.  "  A  little  difference, 
my  dear,"  he  says,  in  an  under  voice.     "  There  will  be  such  in 


ON  HIS  WAY  'J'H ROUGH  THE  WORLD.  451 

the  best-regulated  families.    Canard  sauvage  tr^s  bong,  madame, 
avec ''  but  he  is  allowed  to  speak  no  more,  for 

"What  would  you  do,  Colonel  Bunch,"  little  Charlotte 
breaks  out  with  her  poor  little  ringing,  trembling  voice — "  that 
is,  if  you  were  a  young  man,  if  another  young  man  struck  you, 
and  insulted  you  ?  "  I  say  she  utters  this  in  such  a  clear  voice, 
that  Franc^oise.  t\\Qfemme-de-chambfr,  that  Auguste,  the  footman, 
that  all  the  guests  hear,  that  all  the  knives  and  forks  stop  their 
clatter. 

"Faith,  my  dear,  Fd  knock  him  down  if  I  could,"  says 
Bunch ;  and  he  catches  hold  of  the  little  maid's  sleeve,  and 
would  stop  her  speaking  if  he  could. 

"  And  that  is  what  Philip  did,"  cries  Charlotte  aloud  ;  "  and 
mamma  has  turned  him  out  of  the  house — 3'es,  out  of  the  house, 
for  acting  like  a  man  of  honor !  " 

"  Go  to  your  room  this  instant.  Miss  ! "  shrieks  mamma. 
As  for  old  Baynes,  his  stained  old  uniform  is  not  more  dingy- 
red  than  his  wrinkled  face  and  his  throbbing  temples.  He 
blushes  under  his  wig,  no  doubt,  could  we  see  beneath  that 
ancient  artifice, 

"  What  is  it .''  madame  your  mother  dismisses  you  of  my 
table  ?  I  will  come  with  you,  my  dear  Miss  Charlotte  !  "  says 
madame,  with  much  dignity,  "  Serve  the  sugared  plate, 
Auguste  !  My  ladies,  you  will  excuse  me  !  I  go  to  attend  the 
dear  miss,  who  seems  to  me  ill,"  And  she  rises  up,  and  she 
follows  poor  little  blushing,  burning,  weeping  Charlotte:  and' 
again,  I  have  no  doubt,  takes  her  in  her  arms,  and  kisses,  and 
cheers,  and  caresses  her — at  the  threshold  of  the  door — there 
by  the  staircase,  among  the  cold  dishes  of  the  dinner,  where 
Moira  and  Macgrigor  had  one  moment  before  been  marauding. 

"  Courage,  ma  fille,  courage,  mon  enfant !  Tenez  !  Behold 
something  to  console  thee  !  "  and  madame  takes  out  of  her 
pocket  a  little  letter,  and  gives  it  to  the  girl,  who  at  sight  of  it 
kisses  the  superscription,  and  then,  in  an  anguish  of  love,  and 
joy,  and  grief,  falls  on  the  neck  of  the  kind  woman,  who  con- 
soles her  in  her  misery.  Whose  writing  is  it  Charlotte  kisses  ? 
Can  you  guess  by  any  means  ?  Upon  my  word,  Madame 
Smolensk,  I  never  recommend  ladies  to  take  daughters  to  youf 
boarding-house.  And  I  like  you  so  much,  I  would  not  tell  of 
you,  but  you  know  the  house  is  shut  up  this  many  a  long  day. 
Oh !  the  years  slip  away  fugacious ;  and  the  grass  has  grown 
over  graves  ;  and  many  and  many  joys  and  sorrows  have  been 
born  and  have  died  since  then  for  Charlotte  and  Philip  :  but 
that  grief  aches  still  in  their  bosoms  at  times ;  and  tliat  sorrow 


422 


'J'lJE  ADVENTURES  OF  PJ 11  LIP 


throbs  at  ('harlotte's  heart  again  wlienever  she  looks  at  a  little 
yellow  letter  in  her  trinket-box  :  and  she  says  to  her  children, 
"  Papa  wrote  that  to  me  before  we  were  married,  my  dears." 
There  are  scarcely  half-a-dozen  words  in  the  little  letter,  I 
believe ;  and  two  of  them  are  "for  ever." 

I  could  draw  a  ground-plan  of  Madame's  house  in  the 
Champs  Elyse'es  if  I  liked,  for  has  not  Philip  shown  me  the 
place  and  described  it  to  me  many  times .''  In  front,  and  facing 
the  road  and  garden,  were  Madame's  room  and  the  salon  ;  to 
the  back  was  the  salle-k-manger ;  and  a  stair  ran  up  the  house 
(where  the  dishes  used  to  be  laid  during  dinner-time,  and  where 
Moira  and  Macgrigor  fingered  the  meats  and  puddings).  Mrs. 
General  Baynes's  rooms  were  on  the  first  floor,  looking  on  the 
Champs  Elyse'es,  and  into  the  garden-court  of  the  house  below. 
And  on  this  day,  as  the  dinner  was  necessarily  short  (owing  to 
unhappy  circumstances),  and  the  gentlemen  were  left  alone 
glumly  drinking  their  wine  or  grog,  and  Mrs.  Baynes  had  gone 
up  stairs  to  her  own  apartment,  had  slapped  her  boys  and  was 
looking  out  of  window — was  it  not  provoking  that  of  all  days 
in  the  world  young  Hely  should  ride  up  to  the  house  on  his 
capering  mare,  with  his  flower  in  his  button-hole,  with  his  little 
varnished  toe-tips  just  touching  his  stirrups,  and  after  perform- 
ing various  caracolades  and  gambadoes  in  the  garden,  kiss  his 
yellow-kidded  hand  to  Mrs.  General  Baynes  at  the  window, 
hope  Miss  Baynes  was  quite  well,  and  ask  if  he  might  come  in 
and  take  a  cup  of  tea .''  Charlotte,  lying  on  madame's  bed 
in  the  ground-floor  room,  heard  Mr.  Hely's  sweet  voice  asking 
after  her  health,  and  the  crunching  of  his  horse's  hoofs  on  the 
gravel,  and  she  could  even  catch  glimpses  of  that  little  form  as 
the  horse  capered  about  in  the  court,  though  of  course  he  could 
not  see  her  where  she  was  lying  on  the  bed  with  her  letter  in 
her  hand.  Mrs.  Baynes  at  her  window  had  to  wag  her  withered 
head  from  the  casement,  to  groan  out,  "  I\Iy  daughter  is  lying 
down,  and  has  a  bad  headache,  I  am  sorr}'  to  saj^,"  and  then 
she  must  have  had  the  mortification  to  see  Hely  caper  off,  after 
waving  her  a  genteel  adieu.  The  ladies  in  the  front  salon,  who 
assembled  after  dinner  witnessed  the  transaction,  and  Mrs. 
Bunch,  I  dare  say,  had  a  grim  pleasure  at  seeing  Eliza  Baynes's 
young  sprig  of  fashion,  of  whom  Eliza  was  for  ever  bragging, 
come  at  last,  and  obliged  to  ride  away,  not  bootless,  certainly, 
for  where  were  feet  more  beautifully  chausses  ?  but  after  a  boot- 
less errand. 

Meanwhile  the  gentlemen  sat  awhile  in  the  dining-room, 
after  the  British  custom  which  such  \eterans  liked  too  well  to 


ON  HIS  \VA  Y  THROUail  THE  WORLD. 


423 


give  up.  Other  two  gentlemen  boarders  went  away,  rather 
alarmed  by  that  storm  and  outbreak  in  which  Charlotte  had 
quitted  the  dinner-table,  and  left  the  old  soldiers  together,  to 
enjoy,  according  to  their  after-dinner  custom,  a  sober  glass  of 
"  something  hot,"  as  the  saying  is.  In  truth,  Madame's  wine 
was  of  the  poorest ;  but  what  better  could  you  expect  for  the 
money  ? 

Raynes  was  not  eager  to  be  alone  w-ith  Bunch,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  began  to  blush  again  when  he  found  himself  tete-a-tcte 
with  his  old  friend.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  The  General 
did  not  dare  to  go  up  stairs  to  his  own  quarters,  where  poor 
Charlotte  was  probably  crying,  and  her  mother  in  one  of  her 
tantrums.  Then  in  the  salon  there  were  the  ladies  of  the 
boarding-house  party,  and  there  Mrs.  Bunch  would  be  sure  to 
be  at  him.  Indeed,  since  the  Bayneses  were  launched  in  the 
great  world,  Mrs.  Bunch  was  untiringly  sarcastic  in  her  remarks 
about  lords,  ladies,  attache's,  ambassadors,  and  fine  people  in 
general.  So  Baynes  sat  with  his  friend,  in  the  falling  evening, 
in  much  silence,  dipping  his  old  nose  in  the  brandy-and-water. 

Little  square-faced,  red-faced,  whisker-dyed  Colonel  Bunch 
sat  opposite  his  old  companion,  regarding  him  not  without 
scorn.  Bunch  had  a  wife.  Bunch  had  feelings.  Do  you  sup- 
pose those  feelings  had  not  been  worked  upon  by  that  wife  in 
private  colloquies  ?  Do  you  suppose — when  two  old  women 
have  lived  together  in  pretty  much  the  same  rank  of  life — if 
one  suddenly  gets  promotion,  is  carried  off  to  higher  spheres, 
and  talks  of  her  new  friends,  the  countesses,  duchesses,  am- 
bassadresses, as  of  course  she  will — do  you  suppose,  I  say,  that 
the  unsuccessful  woman  will  be  pleased  at  the  successful 
woman's  success  ?  Your  knowledge  of  your  own  heart,  my 
dear  lady,  must  tell  you  the  truth  in  this  matter.  I  don't  want 
you  to  acknowledge  that  you  are  angry  because  your  sister  has 
been  staying  with  the  Duchess  of  Fitzbattleaxe,  but  you  are, 
you  know.  You  have  made  sneering  remarks  to  your  husband 
on  the  subject,  and  such  remarks,  I  have  no  doubt,  were  made 
by  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch  to  her  husband,  regarding  her  poor 
friend  Mrs.  General  Baynes. 

During  this  parenthesis  we  have  left  the  General  dipping 
his  nose  in  the  brandy-and-water.  He  can't  keep  it  there  for 
ever.  He  must  come  up  for  air  presently.  His  face  must  come 
out  of  the  drink,  and  sigh  over  the  table. 

"  What's  this  business,  Baynes  ? "  says  the  Colonel. 
"What's  the  matter  with  poor  Charley?" 

"  Family  affairs — differences  will  happen,"  says  the  General. 


.}2  4  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

"  I  do  hope  and  trust  nothing  has  gone  wrong  with  her  and 
young  Firmin,  Baynes  ?  " 

The  General  cloes  not  like  those  fixed  eyes  staring  at  him 
under  those  bushy  eyebrows,  between  those  bushy,  blackened 
whiskers. 

"  Well,  then,  yes,  IJunch,  something  /las  gone  wrong  ;  and 
given  me  and — and  Mrs.  liaynes — a  deuced  deal  of  pain  too. 
The  young  fellow  has  acted  like  a  blackguard,  brawling  and 
fighting  at  an  ambassador's  ball,  bringing  us  all  to  ridicule. 
He's  not  a  gentleman  ;  that's  the  long  and  short  of  it,  Bunch  ; 
and  so  let's  change  the  subject." 

"  Why,  consider  the  provocation  he  had  !  "  cries  the  other, 
disregarding  entirely  his  friend's  prayer.  "I  heard  them  talk- 
ing about  the  business  at  Galignanf s  this  very  day.  A  fellow 
swears  at  Firmin  ;  runs  at  him  ;  brags  that  he  has  pitched  him 
over  ;  and  is  knocked  down  for  his  pains.  By  George  !  I 
think  Firmin  was  quite  right.  Were  any  man  to  do  as  much 
to  me  or  you,  what  should  we  do,  even  at  our  age  .■'  " 

"  We  are  military  men,  I  said  I  didn't  wish  to  talk  about 
the  subject.  Bunch,"  says  the  General  in  rather  a  lofty  manner. 

"  You  mean  that  Tom  Bunch  has  no  need  to  put  his  oar 
in?" 

"  Precisely  so,"  says  the  other,  curtly. 

"  Mum's  the  word  !  Let  us  talk  about  the  dukes  and  duch- 
esses at  the  ball.  Thafs  more  in  your  line,  now,"  says  the 
Colonel,  with  rather  a  sneer. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  duchesses  and  dukes  ?  What  do 
you  know  about  them,  or  what  the  deuce  do  I  care  ?  "  asks  the 
General. 

"  Oh,  they  are  tabooed  too  !  Hang  it,  there's  no  satisfying 
you,"  growls  the  Colonel. 

"  Look  here.  Bunch,"  the  General  broke  out ;  "  I  must 
speak,  since  you  won't  leave  me  alone.  I  am  unhappy.  You 
can  see  that  well  enough.  For  two  or  three  nights  past  I  ha\e 
had  no  rest,  'i'his  engagement  of  my  child  and  Mr.  Firmin 
can't  come  to  any  good.  You  see  what  he  is — an  overbearing, 
ill-conditioned,  quarrelsome  fellow.  What  chance  has  Charley 
of  being  happy  with  such  a  fellow  ?  " 

"  I  hold  my  tongue,  Paynes.  You  told  me  not  to  put  my 
oar  in,"  growls  the  Colonel. 

"  Oh,  if  that's  the  way  yon  take  it.  Bunch,  of  course  there's 
no  need  for  me  to  go  on  any  more,"  cries  General  Baynes. 
"  If  an  old  friend  won't  give  an  old  friend  advice,  by  George, 
or  help  him  in  a  strait,  or  .say  a  kind  word  when  he's  unhappy, 


ox  ins   WAY  TIIROrGII  THJ-.    irORLD. 


425 


I  have  done.  T  have  known  you  for  forty  years,  and  I  am 
mistaken  in  you — that's  all." 

"There's  no  contenting  you.  You  say,  '  Hold  your  tongue,' 
and  I  shut  my  mouth.  I  hold  my  tongue,  and  you  say,  '  Why 
don't  you  speak  ? '  Why  don't  I  ?  Because  you  won't  like 
what  I  say,  Charles  Baynes  :  and  so  what's  the  good  of  more 
talking  ?  " 

"  Confound  it !  "  cries  Baynes,  with  a  thump  of  his  glass  on 
the  table,  "but  what  do  you  say  "i " 

"  I  say,  then,  as  you  will  have  it,"  cries  the  other,  clenching 
his  fists  in  his  pockets, — "  I  say  you  are  wanting  a  pretext 
for  breaking  ofif  this  match,  Baynes.  I  don't  say  it  is  a  good 
one,  mind  ;  but  your  word  is  passed,  and  your  honor  engaged 
to  a  young  fellow  to  whom  you  are  under  deep  obligation." 

"  What  obligation  ?  Who  has  talked  to  you  about  my  pri- 
vate affairs  ?  "  cries  the  General,  reddening.  "  Has  Philip 
Firmin  been  bragging  about  his ?  " 


"  You  have  yourself,  Baynes.  When  you  arrived  here,  you 
told  me  over  and  over  again  what  the  young  fellow  had  done  : 
and  you  certainly  thought  he  acted  like  a  gentlemen  then.  If 
you  choose  to  break  your  word  to  him  now " 

"  Break  my  word  !  Great  powers,  do  you  know  what  you 
are  saying.  Bunch  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  what  you  are  doing,  Baynes." 

"  Doing  ?  and  what .?  " 

"  A  damned  shabby  action  ;  that's  what  you  are  doing,  if 
you  want  to  know.  Don't  tell  vie.  Why,  do  you  suppose 
Sarah — do  you  suppose  everybody  doesn't  see  what  you  are  at .'' 
You  think  you  can  get  a  better  match  for  the  girl,  and  you  and 
Eliza  are  going  to  throw  the  young  fellow  over  :  and  the  fellow 
who  held  his  hand,  and  might  have  ruined  you,  if  he  liked.  I 
say  it  is  a  cowardly  action  !  " 

"  Colonel  Bunch,  do  you  dare  to  use  such  a  word  to  me  ?  " 
calls  out  the  General,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"  Dare  be  hanged  !  I  say  it's  a  shabby  action  ! "  roars  the 
other,  rising  too. 

"  Hush  !  unless  you  wish  to  disturb  the  ladies  !  Of  course 
you  know  what  your  expression  means.  Colonel  Bunch  ?  "  and 
the  General  drops  his  voice  and  sinks  back  to  his  chair. 

"  I  know  what  my  words  mean,  and  1  stick  to  'em,  Baynes," 
growls  the  other ;  "  which  is  more  than  you  can  say  of  yours." 

"  I  am  dee'd  if  any  man  alive  shall  use  this  language  to 
me,"  says  the  General,  in  the  softest  whisper,  "  without  account- 
ing to  me  for  it." 


426  THE  ADVEXTHKES  OE  EHILIP 

"Did  you  ever  find  me  backward,  Baynes,  at  that  kind  of 
thing? "  growls  tlie  C  olonel,  with  a  face  hke  a  lobster  and  eyes 
starting  from  his  head. 

"  Very  good,  sir.  To-morrow,  at  your  earliest  convenience. 
I  shall  be  at  GaEii^tuviFs  from  eleven  till  one.  Willi  a  friend, 
if  possible, — What  is  it,  my  lo\'e  ?  A  game  at  whist  ?  Well, 
no,  thank  3^ou  ;  1  think  I  won't  play  cards  to-night." 

It  was  Mrs.  Baynes  who  entered  the  room  when  the  two 
gentlemen  were  quarrelling;  and  the  bloodthirsty  hypocrites 
instantly  smoothed  their  rufiled  brows  and  smiled  on  her  with 
perfect  courtesy. 

"Whist — no  !  I  was  thinking  should  we  send  out  to  meet 
him  1     He  has  never  been  in  Paris." 

"  Never  been  in  Paris  ?  "  said  the  General,  puzzled." 

"  He  will  be  here  to-night,  you  know.  Madame  has  a  room 
ready  for  him." 

"  The  very  thing,  the  very  thing !  "  cries  General  Baynes, 
with  great  glee.  And  Mrs.  Baynes,  all  unsuspicious  of  the 
quarrel  between  the  old  friends,  proceeds  to  inform  Colonel 
Bunch  that  Major  MacWhirter  was  expected  that  evening. 
And  then  that  tough  old  Colonel  Bunch  knew  the  cause  of 
Baynes's  delight.  A  second  was  provided  for  the  General — 
the  very  thing  Baynes  wanted. 

We  have  seen  how  Mrs.  Baynes,  after  taking  counsel  with 
her  General,  had  privately  sent  for  IVIacWhirter.  Her  plan  was 
that  Charlotte's  uncle  should  take  her  for  awhile  to  Tours,  and 
make  her  hear  reason.  Then  Charley's  foolish  passion  for 
Philip  would  pass  away.  Then,  if  he  dared  to  follow  her  so 
far,  her  aun"  and  uncle,  two  dragons  of  virtue  and  circumspec- 
tion, would  watch  and  guard  her.  Then,  if  Mrs.  Hely  was  still 
of  the  same  mind,  she  and  her  son  might  easily  take  the  post 
to  Tours,  where,  Philip  being  absent,  young  Walsingham  might 
plead  his  passion.  The  best  part  of  the  plan,  perhaps,  was  the 
separation  of  our  young  couple.  Charlotte  would  recover. 
Mrs.  Baynes  was  sure  of  that.  The  little  girl  had  made  no 
outbreak  until  that  sudden  insurrection  at  dinner  which  we 
have  witnessed  ;  and  her  mother,  who  had  domineered  over 
the  child  all  her  life,  thought  she  was  still  in  her  power.  She 
did  not  know  that  she  had  passed  the  bounds  of  authority, 
and  that  with  her  behavior  to  Philip  her  child's  allegiance  had 
revolted. 

Bunch  then,  from  Baynes's  look  and  expression,  perfectly 
understood  what  his  adversary  meant,  and  tiiat  the  General's 
second  was  found.     His  own  he  had  in  his  eye — a  tough  little 


ON  HJS  WAY  TJ/ROUGir  'JJJK   WORLD.  4^7 

old  army  surgeon  of  Peninsular  and  Indian  times,  who  lived 
hard  by,  who  would  aid  as  second  and  doctor  too,  if  need  were 
—and  so  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  as  they  say.  The  C'olonel 
would  go  forth  that  very  instant  and  seek  for  Dr.  Martin,  and 
be  hanged  to  Baynes,  and  a  plague  on  the  whole  transaction 
and  the  folly  of  two  old  friends  burning  powder  in  such  a 
quarrel.  But  he  knew  what  a  bloodthirsty  little  fellow  that 
henpecked,  silent  Baynes  was  when  roused  ;  and  as  for  himself 
— a  fellow  use  that  kind  of  language  to  me  I  By  George,  Tom 
Bunch  was  not  going  to  baulk  him  ! 

Whose  was  that  tall  figure  prowling  about  Madame's  house 
in  the  Champs  Elyse'es  when  Colonel  Bunch  issued  forth  in 
quest  of  his  friend  ;  who  had  been  watched  by  the  police  and 
mistaken  for  a  suspicious  character ;  who  had  been  looking  up 
at  Madame's  windows  now  that  the  evening  shades  had  fallen? 
Oh,  you  goose  of  a  Philip  !  (for  of  course,  my  dears,  you  guess 
that  the  spy  was  P.  F.,  Esq.)  you  look  up  at  the  premier^  and 
there  is  the  Beloved  in  Madame's  room  on  the  ground  floor  j 
— in  yonder  room,  where  a  lamp  is  burning  and  casting  a  faint 
light  across  the  bars  of  the  jalousie.  If  Philip  knew  she  was 
there  he  would  be  transformed  into  a  clematis,  and  climb  up 
the  bars  of  the  window,  and  twine  round  them  all  night.  But 
you  see  he  thinks  she  is  on  the  first  floor  ;  and  the  glances  of 
his  passionate  eyes  are  taking  aim  at  the  wrong  windows.  And 
now  Colonel  Bunch  comes  forth  in  his  stout  strutting  way,  in 
his  little  military  cape — quick  march — and  Philip  is  startled 
like  a  guilty  thing  surprised,  and  dodges  behind  a  tree  in  the 
avenue. 

The  Colonel  departed  on  his  murderous  errand.  Philip 
still  continues  to  ogle  the  window  of  his  heart  (the  wrong  win- 
dow), defiant  of  the  policeman,  who  tells  him  to  circidcr.  He 
has  not  watched  here  many  minutes  more,  ere  a  hackney-coach 
drives  up  with  portmanteaus  on  the  roof  and  a  lady  and  gen- 
tleman within. 

You  see  Mrs.  MacWhirter  thought  she,  as  well  as  her  hus- 
band, might  have  a  peep  at  Paris.  As  Mac's  coach-hire  was 
paid,  Mrs.  Mac  could  afford  a  little  outlay  of  money.  And  if 
they  were  to  bring  Charlotte  back — Charlotte  in  grief  and  agita- 
tion, poor  child — a  m'atron,  an  aunt,  would  be  a  much  fitter 
companion  for  her  than  a  major,  however  gentle.  So  the  pair 
of  MacWhirters  journeyed  from  Tours — a  long  journey  it  was 
before  railways  were  invented — and  after  four-and-twenty  hours 
of  squeeze  in  the  diligence,  presented  themselves  at  nightfall 
at  Madame  Smolensk's. 


428  THE  A])]'ENTUKES  OF  PHI  UP 

The  Baynes'  boys  dashed  into  the  garden  at  the  sound  of 
wheels.  "Mamma — mamma!  it's  uncle  Mac!"  these  inno- 
cents cried:  as  they  ran  to  the  railings.  "Uncle  Mac!  what 
could  bring  him  ?  Oh  !  they  are  going  to  send  me  to  him  ! 
they  are  going  to  send  me  to  him  !  "  thought  Charlotte,  starl- 
ing on  her  bed.  And  on  this  I  dare  say,  a  certain  locket  was 
kissed  more  vehemently  than  ever. 

"  I  say,  Ma  !  "  cries  the  ingenuous  Moira,  jumping  back  to 
the  house  ;  "  it's  uncle  Mac,  and  aunt  Mac,  too  !  " 

''''WhatV  cries  mamma,  with  anything  but  pleasure  in  hei 
voice  ;  and  then  turning  to  the  dining-room,  where  her  husband 
still  sat,  she  called  out,  "  General  1  here's  MacWhirter  and 
Emily  ! " 

Mrs.  Baynes  gave  her  sister  a  very  grim  kiss. 

"  Dearest  Eliza,  I  thought  it  was  such  a  good  opportunity  of 
coming,  and  that  I  might  be  so  useful,  you  know !  "  pleads 
Emily. 

"  Thank  you.  How  do  you  do,  MacWhirter  ?  "  says  the 
grim  General. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Baynes  my  boy  !  " 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Emily  t  IJoys,  bring  your  uncle's  traps. 
Didn't  know  Emily  was  coming  Mac.  Hope  there's  room  fc^- 
her!  "  sighs  the  General,  coming  forth  from  his  parlor. 

The  Major  was  struck  by  the  sad  looks  and  pallor  of  his 
brother-in-law.  "  By  George,  Baynes,  you  look  as  yellow  as  a 
guinea.     How's  Tom  Bunch  t  " 

"  Come  into  this  room  along  with  me.  Have  some  brandy- 
and-water,  Mac.  Auguste  !  Odevie  O  sho  !  "  calls  the  General ; 
and  Auguste,  who  out  of  the  new  comers'  six  packages  has 
daintily  taken  one  very  small  mackintosh  cushion,  says  "  Com- 
ment ?  encore  du  grog,  Ge'ne'ral .?  "  and,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
disappears  to  procure  the  refreshment  at  his  leisure. 

The  sisters  disappear  to  their  embraces  ;  the  brothers-in-law 
retreat  to  the  salle-<z-manger,  where  General  Baynes  has  been 
sitting,  gloomy  and  lonely,  for  half  an  hour  past,  thinking  of  his 
quarrel  with  his  old  comrade.  Bunch.  He  and  Bunch  have 
been  chums  for  more  than  forty  years.  They  have  been  in 
action  together,  and  honorably  mentioned  in  the  same  report. 
They  have  had  a  great  regard  for  each  cTther ;  and  each  knows 
the  other  is  an  obstinate  old  mule,  and,  in  a  quarrel,  will  die 
rather  than  give  way.  They  have  had  a  dispute  out  of  which 
there  is  only  one  issue.  Words  have  passed  which  no  man,  how- 
ever old,  by  George  !  can  brook  from  any  friend,  however  inti- 
mate, by  Jove  !     No  wonder  Baynes  is  grave.     His  family  is 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  429 

large  ;  his  means  are  small.  To-morrow  he  may  be  under  fire 
of  an  old  friend's  pistol.  In  such  an  extremity  he  knows  how 
each  will  behave.     No  wonder,  I  say,  the  General  is  solemn. 

"What's  in  the  wind  now,  Baynes?"  asks  the  Major,  after 
a  little  diink  and  a  long  silence.     "How  is  poor  little  Char  ?  " 

"  Infernally  ill — I  mean  behaved  infernally  ill,"  says  the 
General,  biting  his  lips. 

"  Bad  business  !  Bad  business  !  Poor  little  child  !  "  cries 
the  Major. 

"  Insubordinate  little  devil  !  "  says  the  pale  (General,  grind- 
ing his  teeth.      '  We'll  see  which  shall  be  master  !  " 

"  What !  you  ha\e  had  words  ? " 

"  At  this  table,  this  very  day.  She  sat  here  and  defied  her 
mother  and  me,  by  George  !  and  flung  out  of  the  room  like  a 
tragedy  queen.  She  must  be  tamed,  Mac,  or  my  name's  not 
Baynes." 

MacWhirter  knew  his  relative  of  old,  and  that  this  quiet, 
submissive  man,  when  angry,  worked  up  to  a  white  heat  as  it 
were.  "  Sad  affair  ;  hope  you'll  both  come  round,  Baynes," 
sighs  the  Major,  trying  bootless  commonplaces  ;  and  seeing 
this  last  remark  had  no  effect,  he  bethought  him  of  recurring 
to  their  mutual  friend.  "  How's  Tom  Bunch  ? "  the  Major 
asked,  cheerily. 

At  this  question  Baynes  grinned  in  such  a  ghastly  way  that 
MacWhirter  eyed  him  with  wonder.  "  Colonel  Bunch  is  very 
well,"  the  General  said,  in  a  dismal  voice  ;  "  at  least,  he  was 
half  an  hour  ago.  He  was  sitting  there;"  and  he  pointed  to 
an  empty  spoon  lying  in  an  empty  beaker,  whence  the  spirit 
and  water  had  departed. 

"  What  has  been  the  matter,  Baynes  ? "  asked  the  Major. 
"  Has  anything  happened  between  you  and  Tom.?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  half  an  hour  ago.  Colonel  Bunch  used  words 
to  me  which  I'll  bear  from  no  man  alive  :  and  you  have  arrived 
just  in  the  nick  of  time,  MacWhirter,  to  take  my  message  to 
him.     Hush  !  here's  the  drink." 

''  Voici,  Messieurs  !  "  Auguste  at  length  has  brought  up  a 
second  supply  of  brandy-and-water.  The  veterans  mingled 
their  jorums  ;  and  whilst  his  brother-in-law  spoke,  the  alarmed 
MacWhirter  sipped  occasionally  intentusque  ora  tenebat. 


430  THE  ADIEA'TURES  OF  J'JIJLIP 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

I   CHARGE   YOU,    DROP    YOUR    DAGGERS  ! 

General  Baynes  began  the  story  which  you  and  I  have 
heard  at  length.  He  told  it  in  his  own  way.  He  grew  very 
angry  with  himself  whilst  defending  himself.  He  had  to  abuse 
Philip  very  fiercely,  in  order  to  excuse  his  own  act  of  treason. 
He  had  to  show  that  his  act  was  not  his  act ;  that,  after  all,  he 
never  had  promised  ;  and  that,  if  he  had  promised,  Philip's 
atrocious  conduct  ought  to  absolve  him  from  any  previous  prom- 
ise. I  do  not  wonder  that  the  General  was  abusive,  and  out 
of  temper.  Such  a  crime  as  he  was  committing  can't  be  per- 
formed cheerfully  by  a  man  who  is  habitually  gentle,  generous, 
and  honest.  I  do  not  say  that  men  cannot  cheat,  cannot  lie, 
cannot  inflict  torture,  cannot  commit  rascally  actions,  without 
in  the  least  losing  their  equanimity ;  but  these  are  men  habitu- 
ally false,  knavish,  and  cruel.  They  are  accustomed  to  break 
their  promises,  to  cheat  their  neighbors  in  bargains,  and  what 
not.  A  roguish  word  or  action  more  or  less  is  of  little  matter 
to  them  :  their  remorse  only  awakens  after  detection,  and  ihey 
don't  begin  to  repent  till  they  come  sentenced  out  of  the  dock. 
Rut  here  was  an  ordinarily  just  man  withdrawing  from  his  prom- 
ise, turning  his  back  on  his  benefactor,  and  justifying  himself 
to  himself  by  maligning  the  man  whom  he  injured.  It  is  not 
an  uncommon  event,  my  dearly  beloved  brethren  and  esteemed 
miserable  sister  sinners  ;  but  you  like  to  say  a  preacher  is 
"cynical"  who  admits  this  sad  truth — and,  perhaps,  don't  care 
to  hear  about  the  subject  on  more  than  one  day  in  the  week. 

So,  in  order  to  make  out  some  sort  of  case  for  himself,  our 
poor  good  old  General  Baynes  chose  to  think  and  declare  that 
Philip  was  so  violent,  ill-conditioned,  and  abandoned  a  fellow, 
that  no  faith  ought  to  be  kept  with  him  ;  and  that  Colonel 
Bunch  had  behaved  with  such  brutal  insolence  that  Baynes  must 
call  him  to  account.  As  for  the  fact  that  there  was  another,  a 
richer,  and  a  nuich  more  eligible  suitor,  who  was  likely  to  offer 
for  his  daughter,  Baynes  did  not  happen  to  touch  on  this  point 
at  all ;  preferring  to  speak  of  Philip's  homeless  poverty,  dis- 
reputable conduct,  and  gross  and  careless  behavior. 

Now  MacWhirter,  liaving,  1  suppose,  little  to  do  at  Tours, 
had  read  Mrs.  Baynes's  letters  to  her  sister  Emily,  and  re- 
membered  them.     Intleed,  it  was  but  very  few  months  since 


ON  nrS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  431 

Eliza  Baynes's  letters  had  been  full  of  praise  of  Philip,  of  his 
love  for  Charlotte,  and  of  his  noble  generosity  in  foregoing  the 
great  claim  which  he  had  upon  the  General,  his  mother's  care- 
less trustee.     Philip  was  the  first  suitor  Charlotte  had  had  :  in 
her  first  glow  of  pleasure,  Charlotte's  mother  had  covered  yards 
of  paper  with  compliments,  interjections,  and  those  scratches  or 
das/hs  under  her  words,  by  which  some  ladies  are  accustomed 
to  point  their  satire  or  emphasize  their  delight.     He  was  an 
admirable  young  man — wild,  but  generous,   handsome,  noble  ! 
He  had  forgiven  his  father  thousands  and  thousands  of  pounds 
which  the  doctor  owed  him — all  his   mother's  fortune  ;  and  he 
had  acted  most  nobly  by  her  trustees — that  she  must  sa}-,  though 
poor  dear  weak  p]aynes  was  one  of  them  !     Eaynes  who  was  as 
simple  as   a  child.     Major  Mac   and  his  wife  had  agreed   that 
Philip's  forbearance   was  very  generous  and  kind,  but   after  all 
that  there  was  no  special  cause  for  rapture  at  the  notion  of  their 
niece  marrying  a  struggling  young  fellow  without  a  penny  in  the 
world  ;  and  they  had  been  not  a  little  amused  w-ith  the  change 
of  tone  in  Eliza's  later  letters,  when  she  began  to  go  out  in  the 
great  world,  and  to  look  coldly  upon  poor,  penniless   Firmin, 
her  hero  of  a  few  months  since.     Then  Emily  remembered  how 
Eliza  had  always  been  fond  of  great  people  ;  how  her  head  was 
turned  by  going  to  a  few  parties  at  Government  House ;  how 
absurdly  she  went  on  with  that  little  creature  Fitzrickets  (be- 
cause he  was  an  Honorable,  forsooth,)  at  Dumdum.     Eliza  was 
a  good  wife   to  Baynes  ;  a  good  mother  to  the  children  ;  and 
made  both  ends  of  a  narrow  income  meet  with   surprising  dex- 
terity ;  but  Emily  was  bound  to  say  of  her  sister  Eliza,  that   a 
more,  &c.,  &c.,  &c.     And  when  the  news  came  at  length  that 
Philip  was  to  be  thrown   overboard,  Emily  clapped  her  hands 
together  and  said  to  her  husband,  "  Now,  Mac,  didn't  I  always 
tell  you  so  ?     If  she  could  get  a  fashionable  husband  for  Char- 
lotte, I  knew  my  sister  would  put  the  doctor's  son  to  the  door  !  " 
That  the  poor  child  would  suffer  considerably,  her  aunt  was  as- 
sured.    Indeed,  before  her  own  union  with   I\Iac,  Emily  had 
undergone  heart-breakings  and  pangs  of  separation  on  her  ac- 
count.    The  poor  child  would  want  comfort  and  companionship. 
She  would  go  to  fetch  her  niece.     And  though  the  Major  said, 
"  My  dear,  you   want  to  go   to  Paris,  and   buy  a  new  bonnet," 
Mrs.  MacWhirter  spurned  the   insinuation,  and  came   to  Paris 
from  a  mere  sense  of  duty. 

vSo  Baynes  poured  out  his  history  of  wrongs  to  his  brother- 
in-law,  who  marvelled  to  hear  a  man,  ordinarily  chary  of  words 
and  cool  of  demeanor,  so  angry  and  so  vo'uble.     If  he  had 


432 


THE  ADl'EXTl'RES  OF  PJfllJP 


done  a  bad  action,  at  least,  after  doing  it,  Baynes  had  the  grace 
to  be  very  much  out  of  humor.  If  I  ever,  for  my  part,  do  any- 
thing wrong  in  my  family,  or  to  them,  I  accompany  that  action 
with  a  furious  rage  and  blustering  passion.  I  won't  have  wife 
or  children  question  it.  No  querulous  Nathan  of  a  family 
friend  (or  an  incommodious  conscience,  maybe,)  shall  come 
and  lecture  me  about  my  ill-doings.  No — no.  Out  of  the 
house  with  him  '  Away,  you  preaching  bugbear,  don't  try  to 
frighten  7ne !  Baynes,  1  suspect,  to  browbeat,  bully,  and  outtalk 
the  Nathan  pleading  in  his  heart — Baynes  will  outbawl  that 
prating  monitor,  and  thrust  that  inconvenient  preacher  out  of 
sight,  out  of  hearing,  drive  him  with  angry  words  from  the  gate. 
Ah  !  in  vain  we  expel  him  ;  and  bid  John  say,  not  at  home  ! 
There  he  is  when  we  wake,  sitting  at  our  bedfoot.  We  throw 
him  overboard  for  daring  to  put  an  oar  in  our  boat.  Whose 
ghastly  head  is  that  looking  up  from  the  water  and  swimming 
alongside  us,  row  we  never  so  swiftly  ?  Fire  at  him.  Brain 
him  with  an  oar,  one  of  you,  and  pull  on  !  Flash  goes  the 
pistol.  Surely  that  oar  has  stove  the  old  skull  in  ?  See  !  there 
comes  the  awful  companion  popping  up  out  of  water  again,  and 
crying,  "  Remember,  remember,  1  am  here,  I  am  here !  " 
Baynes  had  thought  to  bully  away  one  monitor  by  the  threat 
of  a  pistol,  and  here  was  another  swimming  alongside  of  his 
boat.  And  would  you  have  it  otherwise,  my  dear  reader,  for 
you,  for  me  ?  That  you  and  I  shall  commit  sins,  in  this,  and 
ensuing  years,  is  certain  ;  but  I  hope — I  hope  they  won't  be 
past  praying  for.  Here  is  Baynes,  having  just  done  a  bad  ac- 
tion, in  a  dreadfully  wicked,  murderous,  and  dissatisfied  state 
of  mind.  His  chafing,  bleeding  temper  is  one  raw;  his  whole 
soul  one  rage,  and  wrath,  and  fever.  Charles  Baynes,  thou  old 
sinner,  I  pray  that  heaven  may  turn  thee  to  a  better  state  of 
mind.  I  will  kneel  down  by  thy  side,  scatter  ashes  on  my  own 
bald  pate,  and  we  will  quaver  out  Peccavimus  together. 

"In  one  word,  the  young  man's  conduct  has  been  so  out- 
rageous and  disreputable  that  I  can"  Mac,  as  a  father  of  a 
family,  consent  to  my  girl's  ma-  f}r;,.j^  him.  Out  of  a  regard  for 
her  happiness,  it  is  my  duty  to  oreak  off  the  engagement,"  cries 
the  General,  finishing  .ne  stc.y. 

"  Has  he  formally  released  you  from  that  trust  business  ?  " 
asked  the  Major, 

"  Good  heavens,  Mac  !  "  cries  the  General,  turning  very  red. 
"  You  know  I  am  as  innocent  of  all  wrong  towards  him  as  you 
are  ! " 

"  innocent — only  you  did  not  look  to  your  trust " 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


433 


"  I  think  ill  of  him,  sir.  I  think  he  is  a  wild,  reckless,  (jver- 
bearing  young  fellow,"  calls  out  the  General,  very  quickly, 
"  who  woi.  Id  make  my  child  miserable  ;  but  I  don't  think  he  is 
such  a  blackguard  as  to  come  down  on  a  retired  elclerl}-  man 
with  a  poor  family — a  numerous  family  ;  a  man  who  has  bled 
and  fought  for  his  sovereign  in  the  Peninsula,  and  in  India,  as 
the  '  Army  List'  will  show  you,  by  George  !  1  don't  think 
Firmii:  will  be  such  a  scoundrel  as  to  come  down  on  me,  I  say  ; 
and  I  must  say,  MacWhirter,  I  think  it  most  unhandsome  of 
you  to  allude  to  it — most  unhandsome,  by  George  !  " 

"  Why,  you  are  going  to  break  ofif  your  bargain  with  him  ; 
why  should  he  keep  his  compact  with  you  ?  "  asks  the  gruff 
Major. 

''  Because,"  shouted  the  General,  "  it  would  be  a  sin  and  a 
shanije  that  an  old  man  with  seven  children,  and  broken  health, 
who  has  ser\ed  in  every  place — yes,  in  the  West  and  East 
Indies,  by  George  ! — in  Canada — in  the  Peninsula,  and  at  New 
Orleans  ; — because  he  has  been  deceived  and  humbugged  by  a 
miserable  scoundrel  of  a  doctor  into  signing  a  sham  paper,  by 
George  !  should  be  ruined,  and  his  poor  children  and  wife  driven 
to  beggary,  by  Jove  !  as  you  seem  to  recommend  young  Firmin 
to  do.  Jack  MacWhirter  ;  and  I'll  tell  you  what.  Major  Mac- 
Whirter,  I  take  it  dee'd  unfriendly  of  you  ;  and  I'll  trouble  you 
not  to  put  your  oar  into  my  boat,  and  meddle  with  my  affairs, 
that's  all,  and  I'll  know  who's  at  the  bottom  of  it,  by  Jove  ! 
It's  the  gray  mare,  Mac — it's  your  better  half,  MacWhirter — 
it's  that  confounded,  meddlinfr,  sneakins:,  backbitinc:,  domineer- 


"  What  next  ?  "  roared  the  INIajor.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Do  you 
think  I  don't  know,  Baynes,  who  has  put  you  on  doing  what  I 
have  no  hesitatioii  in  calling  a  most  sneaking  and  rascally 
action — yes,  a  rascally  action,  by  George  !  I  am  not  going  to 
mince  matters  !  Don't  come  your  Major-General  or  your  Mrs. 
Major-General  over  me  !  It's  Eliza  that  has  set  you  on.  And 
if  Tom  Bunch  has  been  telling  you  that  you  have  been  breaking 
from  your  word,  and  are  acting  shabbily,  Tom  is  right  ;  and  you 
may  get  somebody  else  to  go  out  with  you,  General  Baynes,  for, 
by  George,  I  won't !  " 

"  Have  you  come  all  the  way  from  Tours,  Mac,  in  order  to 
insult  me?  "  asks  the  General. 

"  I  came  to  do  you  a  friendly  turn  ;  to  take  charge  of  your 
poor  girl,  upon  whom  you  are  being  ver}*  hard,  Baynes.  And 
this  is  the  reward  I  get  !  Thank  you.  No  more  grog  !  What 
J  have  had  is  rather  too  strong  for  me  alreadv."    And  the  Major 


434 


riJE  ADVENTURES  OE  PJITLTP 


looks  down  with  an  expression  of  scorn  at  the  emptied  beaker, 
the  idle  spoon  before  him. 

As  the  warriors  were  quarrelling  over  their  cups,  there  came 
to  them  a  noise  as  of  brawling  and  of  female  voices  without. 
"  Mais,  madame  !  "  pleads  Madame  Smolensk,  in  her  grave  way. 
"  Taisez-vous,  madame,  laissez-moi  tranquille,  s'il  vous  plait !  " 
exclaims  the  well-known  voice  of  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  which  I 
own  was  never  very  pleasant  to  me,  either  in  anger  or  good- 
humor.  "  And  your  Little, — who  tries  to  sleep  in  my  chamber  !  " 
again  pleads  the  mistress  of  the  boarding-house.  "  Vous 
n'avez  pas  droit  d'appeler  Mademoiselle  Baynes  petite !  "  calls 
out  the  General's  lady.  And  Baynes,  who  was  fighting  and 
quarrelling  himself  just  now,  trembled  when  he  heard  her.  His 
angry  face  assumed  an  alarmed  expression.  He  looked  for 
means  of  escape.  He  appealed  for  protection  to  MacWhirter, 
whose  nose  he  had  been  ready  to  pull  anon.  Samson  was  a 
mighty  man,  but  he  was  a  fool  in  the  hands  of  a  woman. 
Hercules  was  a  brave  man  and  a  strong,  but  Omphale  twisted 
him  round  her  spindle.  Even  so  Baynes,  who  had  fought  in 
India,  Spain,  America,  trembled  before  the  partner  of  his  bed 
and  name. 

It  was  an  unlucky  afternoon.  Whilst  the  husbands  had 
been  quarrelling  in  the  dining-room  over  brandy-and-water,  the 
wives,  the  sisters,  had  been  fighting  over  their  tea  in  the  salon. 
I  don't  know  what  the  other  boarders  were  about.  Philip  never 
told  me.  Perhaps  they  had  left  the  room  to  give  the  sisters  a 
free  opportunity  for  embraces  and  confidential  communication. 
Perhaps  there  were  no  lady  boarders  left.  Plowbeit,  Emily 
and  Eliza  had  tea ;  and  before  that  refreshing  meal  was  con- 
cluded, those  dear  women  were  fighting  as  hard  as  their  hus- 
bands in  the  adjacent  chamber. 

Eliza,  in  the  first  place,  was  very  angry  at  Emily's  coming 
without  invitation.  Emily,  on  her  part,  was  angry  with  Eliza 
for  being  angry.  "I  am  sure,  P^liza,'' said  the  spirited  and 
injured  MacWhirter,  "  that  is  the  third  time  you  have  alluded 
to  it  since  we  have  been  here.  Had  you  and  all  your  family 
come  to  Tours,  Mac  and  I  would  have  made  them  welcome — 
children  and  all  ;  and  1  am  sure  yours  make  trouble  enough  in 
a  house." 

"  A  private  house  is  not  like  a  boarding-house,  Emily. 
Here  Madame  makes  us  pay  frightfully  for  extras,"  remarks 
Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  came,  FJiza.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it, 
t  can't  go  away  to  night,"  says  the  other. 


ON  irrs  ]VAY  Ti/Rorc//  rriE  world. 


435 


"  And  most  unkind  it  is  that  speech  to  make,  Emily.  Any 
more  tea  ? " 

"  Most  unpleasant  to  have  to  make  that  speech,  Eliza.  To 
travel  a  whole  day  and  night — and  I  never  able  to  sleep  in  a 
diligence — to  hasten  to  my  sister  because  I  thought  she  was  in 
trouble,  because  I  thought  a  sister  might  comfort  her  ;  and  to 
be  received  as  you  re — as  you — oh,  oh,  oh — boh  !  How  stoopid 
I  am  ! "  A  handkerchief  dries  the  tears :  a  smelling-bottle 
restores  a  little  composure.  "  When  you  came  to  us  at  Dum- 
dum, with  two — o — o  children  in  the  whooping-cough,  I  am  sure 
Mac  and  I  gave  you  a  very  different  welcome. " 

The  other  was  smitten  with  remorse.  She  remembered  her 
sister's  kindness  in  former  days.  "  I  did  not  mean,  sister,  to 
give  you  pain,"  she  said.  "But  I  am  very  unhappy  myself, 
Emily.     My  child's  conduct  is  making  me  most  unhappy. '' 

"  And  very  good  reason  you  have  to  be  unhappy,  Eliza,  if 
woman  ever  had,"  says  the  other. 

"Oh,  indeed,  yes  !  "  gasps  the  General's  lady. 

"  If  any  woman  ought  to  feel  remorse,  Eliza  Baynes,  I  am 
sure  it's  you.  Sleepless  nights  !  What  was  mine  in  the  dili- 
gence, compared  to  the  nights  you  must  have  ?  I  said  so  to 
myself.     '  I  am  wretched,  '  I  said,  '  but  what  must  she  be  ? '  " 

"  Of  course,  as  a  feeling  mother,  I  feel  that  poor  Charlotte 
is  unhappy,  my  dear." 

"  But  what  makes  her  so,  my  dear  ?  "  cries  Mrs.  MacWhirter, 
who  presently  showed  that  she  was  mistress  of  the  whole  con- 
troversy. "  No  wonder  Charlotte  is  unhappy,  dear  love  !  Can 
a  girl  be  engaged  to  a  young  man,  a  most  interesting  young. 
man,  a  clever,  accomplished,  highly  educated  young  man " 

''What?  "  cries  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Haven't  I  your  letters  ?  I  have  them  all  in  my  desk. 
They  are  in  that  hall  now.  Didn't  you  tell  me  so  over  and 
over  again  ;  and  rave  about  him,  till  I  thought  you  were  in  love 
with  him  yourself  almost  ?  "  cries  Mrs.  Mac. 

"  A  most  indecent  observation  !  "  cries  out  Eliza  Baynes,  in 
her  deep,  awful  voice.  "  No  woman,  no  sister,  shall  say  that  to 
me  !  " 

"  Shall  I  go  and  get  the  letters  ?  It  used  to  be,  '  Dear 
Philip  has  just  left  us.  Dear  Philip  has  been  more  than  a  son 
to  me.  He  is  our  preserver ! '  Didn't  you  write  all  that  to  me 
over  and  over  again  ?  And  because  you  have  found  a  richer 
husband  for  Charlotte,  you  are  going  to  turn  your  preserve! 
out  of  doors  !  " 

"  Emily  MacWhirter,  am   I  to  sit  here  and  be  accused  of 


436  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  P/irriP 

crimes,  uninvited,  mind — uninvited,  mind,  by  my  sister  ?  Is 
a  general  officer's  lady  to  be  treated  in  this  way  by  a  brevet- 
major's  wife  ?  Though  you  are  my  senior  in  age,  Emily,  I  am 
yours  in  rank.  Out  of  any  room  in  England,  but  this,  I  go 
before  you !  And  if  you  have  come  uninvited  all  the  way  from 
Tours  to  insult  me  in  my  own  house " 

"  House,  indeed  !  pretty  house  !  Everybody  else's  house  as 
well  as  yours  !  " 

"  Such  as  it  is,  I  never  asked  you  to  come  into  it,  Emily  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  You  wish  me  to  go  out  in  the  night.  Mac  ! 
I  say  !  " 

"  Emily  !  "  cries  the  Generaless. 

"  Mac,  I  say !  "  screams  the  Majoress,  flinging  open  the 
door  of  the  salon,  "  my  sister  wishes  me  to  go.  Do  you 
hear  me  ? " 

"  Au  nom  de  Dieu,  madame,  pensez  \  cette  pauvre  petite, 
qui  soufifre  a  cote,  "  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house,  pointing  to 
her  own  adjoining  chamber,  in  which,  we  have  said,  our  poor 
little  Charlotte  was  lying. 

"  Nappley  pas  Madamaselle  Baynes  petite,  sivoplay  1 " 
booms  out  Mrs.  Baynes'  contralto. 

"  MacWhirter,  I  say.  Major  MacWhirter  !  "  cries  Emily, 
flinging  open  the  door  of  the  dining-room  where  the  two  gentle- 
men were  knocking  their  own  heads  together.  "  MacWhirter! 
My  sister  chooses  to  insult  me,  and  say  that  a  brevet-major's 
wife " 

"  By  George  !  are  you  fighting,  too  ? "  asks  the  General. 

"  Baynes,  Emily  MacWhirter  has  insulted  me  !  "  cries  Mrs. 
Baynes. 

"  It  seems  to  have  been  a  settled  thing  beforehand,"  yells 
the  General.  "  Major  MacWhirter  has  done  the  same  thing 
by  me  !  He  has  forgotten  that  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  that  I 
am." 

"  He  only  insults  you  because  he  thinks  you  are  his  relative, 
and  must  bear  everything  from  him,"  says   the  General's  wife. 

"  By  George  !  I  will  nut  bear  everything  from  him  !  "  shouts 
the  General.  The  two  gentlemen  and  their  two  wives  are 
squabbling  in  the  hall.  Madame  and  the  servants  are  peering 
up  from  the  kitchen-regions.  I  dare  say  the  boys  from  the 
topmost  banisters  are  saying  to  each  other,  "  Row  between  Ma 
and  Aunt  Mac  !  "  I  dare  say  scared  little  Charlotte,  in  her 
temporary  apartment,  is,  for  awhile,  almost  forgetful  of  her 
own  grief ;  and  wondering  what  quarrel  is  agitating  her  aunt 
and  mother,  her  father  and  uncle  t     Place  the  remaining  male 


OA'  II IS  U'A  Y  TIIROUGN  THE  WORLD. 


437 


and  female  boarders  about  the  corridors  and  on  the  landings, 
in  various  attitudes  expressive  of  interest,  of  satiric  commen- 
tary, wrath  at  being  disturbed  by  unseemly  domestic  quarrel : 
— in  what  posture  you  will.  As  for  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  she, 
poor  thing,  does  not  know  that  the  General  and  her  own 
Colonel  have  entered  on  a  mortal  quarrel.  She  imagines  the 
dispute  is  only  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  her  sister  as  yet ;  and 
she  has  known  this  pair  quarrelling  for  a  score  of  years  past. 
"Toujours  comme  ga,  fighting  vous  savez,  et  puis  make  it  up 
again.     Oui,"  she  explains  to  a  French  friend  on  the  landing. 

In  the  very  midst  of  this  storm  Colonel  Bunch  returns,  his 
friend  and  second,  Dr.  Martin,  on  his  arm.  He  does  not 
know  that  two  battles  have  been  fought  since  his  own  combat. 
His,  we  will  say^  was  Ligny.  Then  came  Quatre-Bras,  in 
which  Baynes  and  MacWhirter  were  engaged.  Then  came  the 
general  action  of  Waterloo.  And  here  enters  Colonel  Bunch, 
quite  unconscious  of  the  great  engagements  which  have  taken 
place  since  his  temporary  retreat  in  search  of  reinforcements. 

"  How  are  you,  MacWhirter  ?  "  cries  the  Colonel  of  the  pur- 
ple whiskers.  "  My  friend.  Dr.  Martin  !  "  And  as  he  addresses 
himself  to  the  General,  his  eyes  almost  start  out  of  his  head,  as 
if  they  would  shoot  themselves  into  the  breast  of  that  officer. 

"  My  dear,  hush  !  Emily  MacWhirter,  had  we  not  better 
defer  this  most  painful  dispute  ?  The  whole  house  is  listening 
to  us  !  "  whispers  the  General,  in  a  rapid  low  voice.  "  Doctor 
— Colonel  Bunch — Major  MacWhirter,  had  we  not  better  go 
into  the  dining-room  ?  " 

The  General  and  the  Doctor  go  first,  Major  MacWhirter 
and  Colonel  Bunch  pause  at  the  door.  Says  Bunch  to  Mac- 
Whirter :  "  Major,  you  act  as  the  General's  friend  in  this  affair  ? 
It's  most  awkward,  but,  by  George !  Baynes  has  said  things  to 
me  that  I  won't  bear,  were  he  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  by 
George  !  And  I  know  him  a  deuced  deal  too  well  to  think  he 
will  ever  apologize  !  " 

"  He  has  said  things  to  me.  Bunch,  that  I  won't  bear  from 
fifty  brother-in-laws,  by  George  !  growls  MacWhirter. 

"  What  ?     Don't  you  bring  me  any  message  from  him  t  " 

"  I  tell  you,  Tom  Bunch,  I  want  to  send  a  message  to  him. 
Invite  me  to  his  house,  and  insult  me  and  Emily  when  we 
come  !  By  George,  it  makes  my  blood  boil  !  Insult  us  after 
travelling  twenty-four  hours  in  a  confounded  diligence,  and  say 
we're  not  invited  !     He  and  his  little  catamaran." 

"  Hush  !  "  interposed  Bunch. 

''I  say  catamaran,   sir!    don't  tell    me!     They  came  and 


438  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Stayed  with  us  four  months  at  Dunukun — the  children  ill  with 
the  pip,  or  some  confounded   thing — went  to  Europe,  and  left 

me  to  pay  the  doctor's  bill ;  and  now,  by " 

Was  the  Major  going  to  invoke  George,  the  Cappadocian 
champion,  or  Olympian  Jove  ?  At  this  moment  a  door,  by 
which  they  stood,  opens.  You  may  remember  there  were  three 
doors,  all  on  that  landing  ;  if  you  doubt  me,  go  and  see  the 
house  (Avenue  de  Valmy,  Champs  Elyse'es,  Paris).  A  third 
door  opens,  and  a  young  lady  comes  out,  looking  very  pale  and 
sad,  her  hair  hanging  over  her  shoulders ; — her  hair,  which 
hung  in  rich  clusters  generally,  but  I  suppose  tears  have  put  it 
all  out  of  curl, 

"  Is  it  you,  uncle  Mac  ?  I  thought  I  knew  your  voice,  and  I 
heard  aunt  Emily's,"  says  the  little  person. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,  Charley,"  says  uncle  Mac.  And  he  looks 
into  the  round  face,  which  looks  so  wild  and  is  so  full  of  grief 
unutterable  that  uncle  Mac  is  quite  melted,  and  takes  the  child 
to  his  arms,  and  says,  "  What  is  it,  my  dear  ?  "  And  he  quite 
forgets  that  he  proposes  to  blow  her  father's  brains  out  in  the 
morning.     "  How  hot  your  little  hands  are  !  " 

"  Uncle,    uncle  ! "    she    says,    in    a   swift   febrile    whisper, 
"you're  come  to  take  me  away,  I  know.     I  heard  you  and  papa, 
I  heard  mamma  and  aunt  Emily  speaking  quite  loud  !     But  if 
I  go — I'll — ril  never  love  any  but  him !" 
"  But  whom,  dear  }  " 
"  But  Philip,  uncle." 

"  By  George,  Char,  no  more  you  shall ! "  says  the  Major. 
And  herewith  the  poor  child,  who  had  been  sitting  up  on  her  bed 
whilst  this  quarrelling  of  sisters, — whilst  this  brawling  of  ma- 
jors, generals,  colonels, — whilst  this  coming  of  hackney-coaches, 
— whilst  this  arrival  and  departure  of  visitors  on  horseback, — 
had  been  taking  place,  gave  a  fine  hysterical  scream,  and  fell 
into  her  uncle's  arms  laughing  and  crying  wildly. 

This  outcry,  of  course,  brought  the  gentlemen  from  their 
adjacent  room,  and  the  ladies  from  theirs. 

'•  What  are  you  making  a  fool  of  yourself  about  ?  "  growls 
Mrs.  Baynes,  in  her  deepest  bark. 

"  By  George,  Eliza,  you  are  too  bad  !  "  says  the  General, 
quite  white. 

"  Eliza,  you  are  a  brute  !  "  cries  Mrs.  MacWhirter. 
"  So  SHE  IS  !  "  shrieks  Mrs.  Bunch  from  the  landing  place 
overhead,  where  other  lady-boarders  were  assembled  looking 
down  on  this  awful  family  battle. 

Eliza  Baynes  knew  slae  had  gone   too  far.     Poor  Charley 


O.V  HIS  \VA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


439 


was  scarce  conscious  by  this  time,  and  wildly  screaming, 
"  Never,  never  i  "  *  *  *  *  When,  as  I  live,  who  should 
burst  into  the  premises  but  a  young  man  with  fair  hair,  with 
flaming  whiskers,  with  flaming  eyes,  who  calls  out,  "  What  is 
it  ?     I  am  here,  Charlotte,  Charlotte  !  " 

Who  is  that  young  man  ?  We  had  a  glimpse  of  him,  prowl- 
ing about  the  Champs  Elysees  just  now,  and  dodging  behind  a 
tree  when  Colonel  Bunch  went  out  in  search  of  his  second. 
Then  the  young  man  saw  the  MacWhirter  hackney-coach 
apj^roach  the  house.  Then  he  waited  and  waited,  looking 
to  that  upper  window  behind  which  we  know  his  beloved  was 
not  reposing.  Then  he  beheld  Bunch  and  Doctor  Martin 
arrive.  Then  he  passed  tlirough  the  wicket  into  the  garden, 
and  heard  Mrs.  Mac  and  Mrs.  Baynes  fighting.  Then  there 
came  from  the  passage — where  you  see,  this  battle  was  going 
on — that  ringing  dreadful  laugh  and  scream  of  poor  Charlotte ; 
and  Philip  Firmin  burst  like  a  bombshell  into  the  midst  of  the 
hall  where  the  battle  was  raging,  and  of  the  family  circle  who 
were  fighting  and  screaming. 

Here  is  a  picture  I  protest.  We  have — first,  the  boarders 
on  the  first  landing,  whither,  too,  the  Baynes  children  have 
crept  in  their  night-gowns.  Secondly,  we  have  Auguste, 
FraiiQoise  the  cook,  and  the  assistant  coming  up  from  the  base- 
ment. And,  third,  we  have  Colonel  Bunch,  Doctor  Martin, 
Major  MacWhirter,  with  Charlotte  in  his  arms  ;  Madame,  Gen- 
eral B.,  Mrs.  Mac,  Mrs.  General  B.,  all  in  the  passage,  when 
our  friend  the  bombshell  bursts  in  amongst  them. 

"  Wliat  is  it  ?  Charlotte,  I  am  here  !  "  cries  Philip,  with 
his  great  voice ;  at  hearing  which,  little  Char  gives  one  final 
scream,  and,  at  the  next  moment,  she  has  fainted  quite  dead — ■ 
but  this  time  she  is  on  Philip's  shoulder. 

"  You  brute,  how  dare  you  do  this  .-•  "  asks  Mrs.  Baynes, 
glaring  at  the  young  man. 

"  It  is  you  who  have  done  it,  Eliza  !  "  says  aunt  Emily. 

"  And  so  she  has,  Mrs.  MacWhirter !  "  calls  out  Mrs.  Col- 
onel Bunch,  from  the  landing  abo\e. 

And  Charles  Baynes  felt  he  had  acted  like  a  traitor,  and 
hung  down  his  head.  He  had  encouraged  his  daughter  to  give 
her  heart  away,  and  she  had  obeyed  him.  When  he  saw 
Philip  I  think  he  was  glad  :  so  was  the  Major,  though  Firmin, 
to  be  sure,  pushed  him  quite  roughly  up  against  the  wall. 

"  Is  this  vulgar  scandal  to  go  on  in  the  passage  before  the 
whole  house  ?  "  gasped  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Bunch  brought  me  here  to  prescribe  for  this  young  lady," 


440 


THE  ADVEXrrKES  OE  PHILIP 


says  little  Doctor  Martin,  in  a  very  courtly  uay.  "  Maclame, 
will  you  get  a  little  sal-\olatile  from  Anjubeaus  in  the 
Faubourg ;  and  let  her  be  kept  very  quiet  !  " 

"  Come,  Monsieur  Philippe,  it  is  enough  like  that !  "  cries 
Madame,  who  can't  repress  a  smile.  "  Come  to  your  chamber, 
dear  little ! " 

"  Madame,"  cries  Mrs.  I'aynes,  "  une  mere " 

Madame  shrugs  her  shoulders.  "  Une  mere,  une  belle 
mbre,  ma  foi !  "  she  says.     Come,  mademoiselle  !'" 

There  were  only  very  few  people  in  the  boarding-house  :  if 
they  knew,  if  they  saw,  what  happened,  how  can  we  help  our- 
selves }  But  that  they  had  all  been  sitting  over  a  powder- 
magazine,  which  might  have  blown  up  and  destroyed  one,  two, 
three,  five  people,  even  Philip  did  not  know,  until  afterwards, 
when,  laughing.  Major  MacW'hirter  told  him  how  that  meek 
but  most  savage  Baynes  had  first  challenged  Bunch,  had  then 
challenged  his  brother-in-law,  and  how  all  sorts  of  battle,  mur- 
der, sudden  death  might  have  ensued  had  the  quarrel  not  come 
to  an  end. 

Were  your  humble  servant  anxious  to  harrow  his  reader's 
feelings,  or  display  his  own  graphical  powers,  you  understand 
that  1  never  would  have  allowed  those  two  gallant  officers  to 
quarrel  and  threaten  each  other's  very  noses,  without  having 
the  insult  wiped  out  in  blood.  The  Bois  de  Boulogne  is  hard 
by  the  Avenue  de  Valmy,  with  plenty  of  cool  fighting  ground. 
The  octroi  officers  never  stop  gentlemen  going  out  at  the  neigh- 
boring barrier  upon  duelling  business,  or  prevent  the  return  of 
the  slain  victim  in  the  hackney-coach  when  the  dreadful  combat 
is  over.  From  my  knowledge  of  Mrs.  Baynes's  character  I 
have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  she  would  have  encouraged 
her  husband  to  fight ;  and,  the  General  down,  would  ha\e  put 
pistols  into  the  hands  of  her  boys,  and  bidden  them  carry  on 
the  vendetta ;  but  as  I  do  not,  for  my  part,  love  to  see  brethren 
at  war,  or  Moses  and  Aaron  tugging  white  handfuls  out  of  each 
other's  beards,  I  am  glad  there  is  going  to  be  no  fight  between 
the  veterans,  and  that  cither's  stout  old  breast  is  secure  from 
the  fratricidal  bullet. 

Major  Mac\Mfirter  forgot  all  about  bullets  and  battles  when 
poor  little  ("harlotte  kissed  him,  and  was  not  in  the  least  jeal- 
ous when  he  saw  the  little  maiden  clinging  on  Philip's  arm. 
He  was  melted  at  the  sight  of  that  grief  and  innocence,  when 
Mrs.  liaynes  still  continued  to  bark  out  her  private  rage,  and 
said  :  "  if  the  General  won't  protect  me  from  insult,  I  think  J 
had  better  go." 


ON  I/rs   WAV  TllROi'GH  T/IE   WORLD.  441 

"  Ry  Jove,  I  think  you  had  !  "  exclaimed  MacWhirter,  to 
which  remark  the  eyes  of  the  Doctor  and  Colonel  Bunch  gleamed 
an  approval. 

"  Aliens,  Monsieur  Philippe.  Enough  like  that  —  let  me 
take  hep  to  bed  again,"  madanie  resumed.     "  Come,  dear  miss  !  " 

What  a  pit}'  that  the  bedroom  was  but  a  yard  from  where 
they  stood  !  Piiilip  felt  strong  enough  to  carry  his  little  Ciiar- 
lotte  to  the  Tuileries.  The  thick  brown  locks,  which  had  fallen 
over  his  shoulders,  are  lifted  away.  The  little  wounded  heart 
that  had  lain  against  his  own,  parts  from  him  with  a  reviving 
throb.  Madame  and  her  mother  carry  away  little  Charlotte. 
The  door  of  the  neighboring  chamber  closes  on  her.  The  sad 
little  vision  has  disappeared.  The  men,  quarrelling  anon  in 
the  passage,  stand  there  silent. 

"  I  heard  her  voice  outside,"  said  Philip,  after  a  little  pause 
(with  love,  with  grief,  with  excitement,  I  suppose  his  head  was 
in  a  whirl).  "  I  heard  her  voice  outside,  and  I  couldn't  help 
coming  in." 

"  By  George,  I  should  think  not,  young  fellow !  "  says 
Major  MacWhirter,  stoutly  shaking  the  young  man  by  the  hand. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  whispers  the  Doctor  ;  "  she  must  be  kept 
quite  quiet.  She  has  had  quite  excitement  enough  for  to-night. 
There  must  be  no  more  scenes,  my  young  fellow." 

And  Philip  says,  when  in  this  his  agony  of  grief  and  doubt 
he  found  a  friendly  hand  put  out  to  him,  he  himself  was  so 
exceedingly  moved  that  he  was  compelled  to  fly  out  of  the 
company  of  the  old  men,  into  the  night,  where  the  rain  was 
pouring- — the  gentle  rain. 

While  Philip,  without  Madame  Smolensk's  premises,  is  say« 
ing  his  tenderest  prayers,  offering  up  his  tears,  heart-throbs  and 
most  passionate  vows  of  love  for  little  Charlotte's  benefit,  the 
warriors  assembled  within  once  more  retreat  to  a  colloquy  in 
the  salle-a-m anger ;  and,  in  consequence  of  the  rainy  state  of 
the  night,  the  astonished  Auguste  has  to  bring  a  third  supply 
of  hot-water  for  the  four  gentlemen  attending  the  congress. 
The  Colonel,  the  Major,  the  Doctor,  ranged  themselves  on  one 
side  the  table,  defended,  as  it  were,  by  aline  of  armed  tumblers, 
flanked  by  a  strong  brandy-bottle  and  a  stout  earth-work,  from 
an  embrasure  in  which  scalding  water  could  be  discharged. 
Behind  these  fortifications  the  veterans  awaited  their  enemy, 
who,  after  marching  up  and  down  the  room  for  awhile,  takes 
position  finally  in  their  front  and  prepares  to  attack.  The 
General  remounts  his  his  cheval  de  bataille,  but  cannot  bring 
the  animal  to  charge  as  fiercely  as  before,     Charlotte's  white 


442 


TJfE  AnVKNTrKES  OF  PlflLlP 


apparition  has  come  amongst  them,  and  flung  her  fair  arms  be- 
tween the  men  of  war.  In  vain  Eaynes  tries  to  get  up  a  bluster, 
and  to  enforce  his  passion  with  l^y  Georges,  by  Joves,  and 
words  naughtier  still.  That  weak,  meek,  quiet,  henpecked,  but 
most  bloodthirsty  old  General  found  himself  forming  his  own 
minority,  and  against  him  his  old  comrade  ]>unch,  whom  he 
had  insulted  and  nose-pulled  ;  his  brother-in-law  MacWhirter, 
whom  he  had  nose-pulled  and  insulted  ;  and  the  Doctor,  who 
had  been  called  in  as  the  friend  of  the  former.  As  they  faced 
him,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  each  of  those  three  acquired  fresh 
courage  from  his  neighbor.  Each,  taking  his  aim,  deliberately 
poured  his  fire  into  Baynes.  To  yield  to  such  odds,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  not  so  distasteful  to  the  veteran,  as  to  have  to 
give  up  his  sword  to  any  single  adversary.  Before  he  would 
own  himself  in  the  wrong  to  any  individual,  he  would  eat  that 
individual's  ears  and  nose  :  but  to  be  surrounded  by  three 
enemies,  and  strike  your  flag  before  such  odds,  was  no  disgrace  ; 
and  Baynes  could  take  the  circumbendibus  way  of  ajDology  to 
which  some  proud  spirits  will  submit.  Thus  he  could  say  to 
the  Doctor,  "Well,  Doctor,  perhaps  I  was  hasty  in  accusing- 
Bunch  of  employing  bad  language  to  me.  A  bystander  can 
see  these  things  sometimes  when  a  principal  is  too  angry ;  and 
as  you  go  against  me — well — there,  then,  I  ask  Bunch's  par- 
don." That  business  over,  the  MacWhirter  reconciliation  was 
very  speedily  brought  about.  "  Fact  was,  was  in  a  confounded 
ill-temper — veiy  much  disturbed  by  events  of  the  day — didn't 
mean  anything  but  this,  that,  and  so  forth."  If  this  old  chief 
had  to  eat  humble  pie,  his  brave  adversaries  were  anxious  that 
he  should  gobble  up  his  portion  as  quickly  as  possible,  and 
turned  away  their  honest  old  heads  as  he  swallowed  it.  One  of 
the  party  told  his  wife  of  the  quarrel  which  had  arisen,  but 
Baynes  never  did.  "  I  declare,  sir,"  Philip  used  to  say,  "  had 
she  known  anything  about  the  quarrel  that  night,  Mrs.  Baynes 
would  have  made  her  husband  turn  out  of  bed  at  midnight,  and 
challenge  his  old  friends  over  again !  "  But  then  there  was  no 
love  between  Philip  and  Mrs.  Baynes,  and  in  those  whom  he 
hates  he  is  accustomed  to  see  little  good. 

Thus,  any  gentle  reader  who  expected  to  be  treated  to  an 
account  of  the  breakage  of  the  sixth  commandment  will  close 
this  chapter  disappointed.  Those  stout  old  rusty  swords  which 
were  fetched  off  their  hooks  by  the  warriors,  their  owners,  were 
returned  undrawn  to  their  flannel  cases.  Hands  were  shaken 
after  a  fashion — at  least  no  blood  was  shed.  But,  though  the 
words  spoken  between  the  old  boys  were  civil  enough,  Buncli, 


ON  J//S  ]VAV  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  443 

Baynes,  and  the  Doctor  could  not  alter  their  opinion  that 
Philip  had  been  hardly  used,  and  that  the  benefactor  of  his 
family  merited  a  better  treatment  from  General  Baynes. 

Meanwhile,  that  benefactor  strode  home  through  the  rain 
in  a  state  of  perfect  rapture.  The  rain  refreshed  him,  as  did 
his  own  tears.  The  dearest  little  maiden  had  sunk  for  a 
moment  on  his  heart,  and,  as  she  lay  there,  a  thrill  of  hope 
vibrated  through  his  whole  frame.  Her  father's  old  friends 
had  held  out  a  hand  to  him,  and  bid  him  not  despair.  Blow 
wind,  fall  autumn  rains  !  In  the  midnight,  under  the  gusty 
trees,  amidst  which  the  lamps  of  the  reverberes  are  tossing,  the 
young  fellow  strides  back  to  his  lodgings.  He  is  poor  and  un- 
happ)^,  but  he  has  Hope  along  with  him.  He  looks  at  a  certain 
breast-button  of  his  old  coat  ere  he  takes  it  off  to  sleep.  "  Her 
cheek  was  lying  there,"  he  thinks — "  just  there."  My  poor 
little  Charlotte  !  what  could  she  have  done  to  the  breast-button 
of  the  old  coat  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVHI. 

IN    WHICH    MRS   MACWHIRTER    HAS   A    NEW    BONNET. 

Now  though  the  unhappy  Philip  slept  quite  soundly,  so  that 
his  boots,  those  tramp-worn  sentries,  remained  en  faction  at  his 
door  until  quite  a  late  hour  next  morning ;  and  though  little 
Charlotte,  after  a  prayer  or  two,  sank  into  the  sweetest  and 
most  refreshing  girlish  slumber,  Charlotte's  father  and  mother 
had  a  bad  night ;  and,  for  my  part,  I  maintain  that  they  did  not 
deserve  a  good  one.  It  was  very  well  for  Mrs.  Baynes  to 
declare  that  it  was  MacWhirter's  snoring  which  kept  them 
awake  (Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mac  being  lodged  in  the  bedroom  over 
their  relatives) — I  don't  say  a  snoring  neighbor  is  pleasant — ■ 
but  what  a  bedfellow  is  a  bad  conscience  !  Under  Mrs.  Baynes's 
night-cap  the  grim  eyes  lie  open  all  night ;  on  Baynes's  pillow 
is  a  silent,  wakeful  head  that  hears  the  hours  toll.  "  A  plague 
upon  the  young  man  !  "  thinks  the  female  bofinet  de  nuit ;  "  how 
dare  he  come  in  and  disturb  everything  ?  How  pale  Charlotte 
will  look  to-morrow  when  Mrs.  Hely  calls  with  her  son !  When 
she  has  been  crying  she  looks  hideous,  and  her  eyelids  and 
nose  are  quite  red.  She  may  fly  out,  and  say  something  wicked 
and  absurd,  as  she  did  to-day.  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  that 
insolent  young  man,  with  his  carroty  beard  and  vulgar  blucher 


^^^  THE  An\-EXTURES  OF  PHI  LI P 

boots  !  If  my  boys  wore  grown  up,  lie  should  not  come  hectoi'- 
ing  about  the  house  as  he  does ;  they  would  soon  find  a  way  of 
punishing  his  impudence!"  Baulked  revenge  and  a  hungry 
disappointment,  I  think,  are  keeping  that  old  woman  awake  ; 
and,  if  she  hears  the  hours  tolling,  it  is  because  wicked  thoughts 
make  her  sleepless. 

As  for  Baynes,  I  believe  that  old  man  is  awake,  because  he 
is  awake  to  the  shabbyness  of  his  own  conduct.  His  con- 
science has  got  the  better  of  him,  which  he  has  been  trying  to 
bully  out  of  doors.  Do  what  he  M'ill,  that  reflection  forces 
itself  upon  him.  Mac,  Bunch,  and  the  Doctor  all  saw  the 
thing  at  once,  and  went  dead  against  him.  He  wanted  to  break 
his  word  to  a  young  fellow,  who,  whatever  his  faults  might 
be,  had  acted  most  nobly  and  generously  by  the  Baynes  family. 
He  might  have  been  ruined  but  for  Philip's  forbearance  ;  and 
showed  his  gratitude  by  breaking  his  promise  to  the  young 
fellow.  He  was  a  henpecked  man — that  was  the  fact.  He 
allowed  his  wife  to  govern  him  :  that  little  old  plain,  cantank- 
erous woman  asleep  yonder.  Asleep  was  she  ?  No.  He  knew 
~she  wasn't.  Both  were  lying  quite  still,  wide  awake,  pursuing 
their  dismal  thoughts.  Only  Charles  was  owning  that  he  was 
a  sinner,  whilst  Eliza  his  wife,  in  a  rage  at  her  last  defeat,  was 
meditating  how  she  could  continue  and  still  win  her  battle. 

Then  Baynes  reflects  how  persevering  his  wife  is ;  how,  all 
through  life,  she  has  come  back  and  back  and  back  to  her 
point,  until  he  has  ended  by  an  almost  utter  subjugation.  He 
will  resist  for  a  day  :  she  will  fight  for  a  year,  for  a  life.  If 
once  she  hates  people,  the  sentiment  always  remains  with  her 
fresh  and  lively.  Her  jealousy  never  dies ;  nor  her  desire  to 
rule.  What  a  life  she  will  lead  poor  Charlotte  now  she  has 
declared  against  Philip  !  The  poor  child  will  be  subject  to  a 
dreadful  tyranny :  the  father  knows  it.  As  soon  as  he  leaves 
the  house  on  his  daily  walks  the  girl's  torture  will  begin. 
Baynes  knows  how  his  wife  can  torture  a  woman.  As  she 
groans  out  a  hollow  cough  from  her  bed  in  the  midnight,  the 
guilty  man  lies  quite  mum  under  his  own  counterpane.  If  she 
fancies  him  awake,  it  will  be  his  turn  to  receive  the  torture. 
Ah,  Othello  tnon  ami!  when  you  look  round  at  married  life, 
and  know  what  you  know,  don't  you  wonder  that  the  bolster  is 
not  used  a  great  deal  more  freely  on  both  sides  ?  Horrible 
cynicism  !  Yes — I  know.  These  propositions  sensed  raw  are 
savage,  and  shock  your  sensibility;  cooked  with  a  little  piquant 
sauce,  they  are  welcome  at  quite  polite  tables. 

"  Poor  child  !     Yes,  by  George  !     What  a  life  her  mother 


O.V  I/fS  IFAV  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  4^5 

will  lead  her!"  thinks  the  General,  rolling  uneasy  on  the  mid- 
night pillow.  "  No  rest  for  her,  day  or  night,  until  she  marries 
the  man  of  her  mother's  choosing.  And  she  has  a  delicate 
chest — Martin  says  she  has  ;  and  she  wants  coaxing  and  sooth- 
ing, and  pretty  coaxing  she  will  have  from  her  mamma  ! " 
Then,  I  dare  say,  the  past  rises  up  in  that  wakeful  old  man's 
uncomfortable  memory.  His  little  Charlotte  is  a  child  again, 
laughing  on  his  knee,  and  playing  with  his  accoutrements  as  he 
comes  home  from  parade.  He  remembers  the  fever  which  she 
had,  when  she  would  take  medicine  from  no  other  hand  ;  and 
how,  though  silent  with  her  mother,  with  him  she  would  never 
tire  prattling,  prattling.  Guilt-stricken  old  man !  are  those 
tears  trickling  down  thy  old  nose  ?  It  is  midnight.  We  cannot 
see.  When  you  brought  her  to  the  river,  and  parted  with  her 
to  send  her  to  Europe,  how  the  little  maid  clung  to  you,  and 
cried,  "  Papa,  papa  !  "  Staggering  up  the  steps  of  the  ghaut, 
how  you  wept  yourself — yes,  wept  tears  of  passionate,  tender 
grief  at  parting  with  the  darling  of  your  soul.  And  now,  delib- 
erately, and  for  the  sake  of  money,  you  stab  her  to  the  heart, 
and  break  your  plighted  honor  with  your  child.  "  And  it  is 
yonder  cruel,  shrivelled,  bilious,  plain  old  woman  who  makes 
me  do  all  this,  and  trample  on  my  darling,  and  torture  her !  " 
he  thinks.  In  Zoffany's  famous  picture  of  Garrick  and  Mrs. 
Pritchard  as  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth,  Macbeth  stands  in 
an  attitude  hideously  contorted  and  constrained,  while  lady 
Mac  is  firm  and  easy.  Was  this  the  actor's  art,  or  the  poet's 
device  ?  Baynes  is  wretched,  then.  He  is  wrung  with  remorse, 
and  shame  and  pity.  Well,  I  am  glad  of  it.  Old  man,  old 
man  !  how  darest  thou  to  cause  that  child's  tender  little  bosom 
to  bleed  ?  How  bilious  he  looks  the  next  morning  !  I  declare 
as  yellow  as  his  grim  old  wife  !  When  Mrs.  General  B.  hears 
the  children  their  lessons,  how  she  will  scold  them  !  It  is  my 
belief  she  will  bark  through  the  morning  chapter,  and  scarce 
understand  a  word  of  its  meaning.  As  for  Charlotte,  when 
she  appears  with  red  eyes,  and  ever  so  little  color  in  her  round 
cheek,  there  is  that  in  her  look  and  demeanor  which  warns  her 
mother  to  refrain  from  too  familiar  abuse  or  scolding.  The 
girl  is  in  rebellion.  All  day  Char  was  in  a  feverish  state,  her 
eyes  flashing  war.  There  was  a  song  which  Philip  loved  in 
those  days :  the  song  of  Ruth.  Char  sat  down  to  the  piano, 
and  sang  it  with  a  strange  energy.  "  Thy  people  shall  be  my 
people  " — she  sang  with  all  her  heart — "  and  thy  God  my  God  !  " 
The  slave  had  risen.  The  little  heart  was  in  arms  and  mutiny. 
The  mother  was  scared  by  her  defiance. 


4^6  THE  ADVEXT[!KES  OE  PHILfP 

As  for  the  guilty  old  father ;  pursued  by  the  fiend  remorse, 
he  fled  early  from  his  house,  and  read  all  the  papers  at  Galig- 
nani's  without  comprehendhig  them.  Madly  regardless  of  ex- 
pense, he  then  plunged  into  one  of  those  luxurious  restaurants 
in  the  Palais  Royal,  where  you  get  soup,  three  dishes,  a  sweet, 
and  a  pint  of  delicious  wine  for  two  frongs,  by  George  !  But 
all  the  luxuries  there  presented  to  him  could  not  drive  away 
care,  or  create  appetite.  Then  the  poor  old  wretch  went  ofT, 
and  saw  a  ballet  at  the  Grand  Opera.  In  vain.  The  pink 
nymphs  had  not  the  slightest  fascination  for  him.  He  hardly 
was  aware  of  their  ogles,  bounds,  and  capers.  He  saw  a  little 
maid  with  round,  sad  eyes  : — his  Iphigenia  whom  he  was  stab- 
bing. He  took  more  brandy-and-water  at  cafes  on  his  way 
home.  In  vain,  in  vain,  I  tell  you  !  The  old  wife  was  sitting 
up  for  him,  scared  at  the  unusual  absence  of  her  lord.  She 
dared  not  remonstrate  with  him  when  he  returned.  His  face 
was  pale.  His  eyes  were  fierce  and  bloodshot.  When  the 
General  had  a  particular  look,  Eliza  Baynes  cowered  in  silence. 
Mac,  the  two  sisters,  and  I  think.  Colonel  Bunch  (but  on  this 
point  my  informant,  Philip,  cannot  be  sure)  were  having  a  dreary 
rubber  when  the  General  came  in.  Mrs.  B.  knew  by  the 
General's  face  that  he  had  been  having  recourse  to  alcoholic 
stimulus.  But  she  dared  not  speak.  A  tiger  in  a  jungle  was 
not  more  savage  than  Baynes  sometimes.  "Where's  Char .?  " 
he  asked  in  his  dreadful,  his  Jiluebeard  voice.  "  Char  was  gone 
to  bed,"  said  mamma,  sorting  her  trumps.  "  Hm  !  Augoost, 
Odevee,  Osho  !  "  Did  Eliza  Baynes  interfere,  though  she  knew 
he  had  had  enough  ?  As  soon  interfere  with  a  tiger,  and  tell 
him  he  had  eaten  enough  Sepoy.  After  Lady  Macbeth  had  in- 
duced Mac  to  go  through  that  business  with  Duncan,  depend 
upon  it  she  was  very  deferential  and  respectful  to  her  general. 
No  groans,  prayers,  remorses  could  avail  to  bring  his  late 
majesty  back  to  life  again.  As  for  you,  old  man,  though  your 
deed  is  done,  it  is  not  past  recalling.  Though  yoXi  have  with- 
drawn from  your  word  on  a  sordid  money  pretext ;  made  two 
hearts  miserable,  stabbed  cruelly  that  one  which  you  love  best 
in  the  world ;  acted  with  wicked  ingratitude  towards  a  young 
man,  who  has  been  nobly  forgiving  towards  you  and  yours  ;  and 
are  suffering  with  rage  and  remorse,  as  you  own  your  crime  to 
yourself ; — your  deed  is  not  past  recalling  as  yet.  You  may 
soothe  that  anguish,  and  dry  those  tears.  It  is  but  an  act  of 
resolution  on  your  part,  and  a  firm  resumption  of  your  marital 
authority.  Mrs.  Baynes,  after  her  crime,  is  quite  humble  and 
gentle.     She  has  half  murdered  her  child,  and  stretched  Philip 


ON-  [flS  WAY  TIIROUGir  -Jli'I:    WORLD.  447 

on  an  infernal  rack  of  torture  ;  but  she  is  quite  ci\  il  to  every- 
body at  Madame's  house.  Not  one  word  does  she  say  respect- 
ing Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch's  outbreak  of  the  night  before.  She 
talks  to  sister  Emily  about  Paris,  the  fashions,  and  Emily's 
walks  on  the  Boulevard  and  the  Palais  Royal  with  her  Major. 
She  bestows  ghastly  smiles  upon  sundry  lodgers  at  table.  She 
thanks  Augoost  when  he  serves  her  at  dinner — and  says,  "  Ah, 
madame,  que  le  boof  est  bong  aujourdhui,  rien  que  j'aime 
comme  le  potofou."  Oh,  you  old  hypocrite  !  But  you  know  I, 
for  my  part,  always  disliked  the  woman,  and  said  her  good- 
humor  was  more  detestable  than  her  anger.  You  hypocrite  ! 
I  say  again : — ay,  and  avow  that  there  were  other  hypocrites  at 
the  table,  as  you  shall  presently  hear. 

When  Baynes  got  an  opportunity  of  speaking  unobserved, 
as  he  thought,  to  madame,  you  may  be  sure  the  guilty  wretch 
asked  her  how  his  little  Charlotte  was.  Mrs.  Baynes  trumped 
her  partner's  best  heart  at  that  moment,  but  pretended  to 
observe  or  overhear  nothing.  "  She  goes  better — she  sleeps," 
madame  said.  "  Mr.  the  Doctor  Martin  has  commanded  her  a 
calming  potion."  And  what  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  somebody 
had  taken  a  little  letter  from  Charlotte,  and  actually  had  given 
fifteen  sous  to  a  Savoyard  youth  to  convey  that  letter  to  some- 
body else  ?  What  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  the  party  to  whom 
that  letter  was  addressed,  straightway  wrote  an  answer — 
directed  to  Madame  de  Smolensk,  of  course  ?  I  know  it  was 
very  wrong  ;  but  I  suspect  Philip's  prescription  did  quite  as 
much  good  as  Doctor  Martin's,  and  don't  intend  to  be  very 
angry  with  madame  for  consulting  the  unlicensed  practitioner. 
Don't  preach  to  me,  madame,  about  morality,  and  dangerous 
examples  set  to  young  people.  Even  at  your  present  mature 
age,  and  with  your  dear  daughters  around  you,  if  your  ladyship 
goes  to  hear  the  "  Barber  of  Seville,"  on  which  side  are  your 
sympathies — on  Dr.  Bartolo's,  or  Miss  Rosina's  "i 

Although,  then,  Mrs.  Baynes  was  most  respectful  to  her  hus- 
band, and  by  many  grim  blandishments,  humble  appeals,  and 
forced  humiliations,  strove  to  conciliate  and  soothe  him,  the 
General  turned  a  dark,  low-ering  face  upon  the  partner  of  his 
existence  :  her  dismal  smiles  were  no  longer  pleasing  to  him  : 
he  returned  curt  "  Ohs  !  "  and  "  Ahs  !  "  to  her  remarks.  When 
Mrs.  Hely  and  her  son  and  her  daughter  drove  up  in  their 
family  coach  to  pay  yet  a  second  visit  to  the  Baynes  family,  the 
General  flew  in  a  passion,  and  cried,  "  Bless  my  soul,  Eliza,  you 
can't  think  of  receiving  visitors,  with  our  poor  child  sick  in  the 
next  room  ?     It's  inhuman  !  "     The  scared  woman  ventured  on 


448  THE  ADl'EXTl'RES  OE  P/n/.lP 

no  remonstrances.  She  was  so  frightened  that  she  did  not 
attempt  to  scold  the  younger  children.  She  took  a  piece  of 
work,  and  sat  amongst  them,  furtively  weeping.  Their  artless 
queries  and  unseasonable  laughter  stabbed  and  punished  the 
matron.  You  see  people  do  wrong,  though  ihey  are  long  past 
fifty  years  of  age.  It  is  not  only  the  scholars,  but  the  ushers, 
and  the  head-master  himself,  who  sometimes  deserve  a  chastise- 
ment. I,  for  my  part,  hope  to  remember  this  sweet  truth,  though 
I  live  into  the  year  1900. 

To  those  other  ladies  boarding  at  madame's  establishment, 
to  Mrs.  Mac  and  Mrs.  Colonel  IJunch,  though  they  had  declared 
against  him,  and  expressed  their  opinions  in  the  frankest  way 
on  the  night  of  the  battle  royal,  the  General  was  provokingly 
polite  and  amiable.  They  had  said,  but  twenty-four  hours 
since,  that  the  General  was  a  brute;  and  Lord  Chesterfield 
could  not  have  been  more  polite  to  a  lovely  young  duchess 
than  was  Baynes  to  these  matrons  next  day.  You  have  heard 
how  Mrs.  Mac  had  a  strong  desire  to  possess  a  new  Paris  bon- 
net, so  that  she  might  appear  with  proper  lustre  among  the 
ladies  on  the  promenade  at  Tours  ?  Major  and  Mrs.  Mac  and 
Mrs.  Bunch  talked  of  going  to  the  Palais  Royal  (where  Mac- 
Whirter  said  he  had  remarked  some  uncommonly  neat  things, 
by  George  !  at  the  corner  shop  under  the  glass  galler)^.  On 
this,  Baynes  started  up,  and  said  he  would  accompany  his 
friends,  adding,  "  You  know,  Emily,  I  had  promised  you  a  hat 
ever  so  long  ago  !  "  And  those  four  went  away  together,  and 
not  one  offer  did  Baynes  make  to  his  wife  to  join  the  party  ; 
though  her  best  bonnet,  poor  thing,  was  a  dreadfully  old  perform- 
ance, with  moulting  feathers,  rumpled  ribbons,  tarnished  flowers, 
and  lace  bought  in  St.  Martin's  Alley  months  and  months  be- 
fore. Emily,  to  be  sure,  said  to  her  sister,  "  Eliza,  won't  you  be 
of  the  party  ?  We  can  take  the  omnibus  at  the  corner,  which 
will  land  us  at  the  very  gate."  l)Ut  as  Emily  gave  this  unlucky 
invitation,  the  General's  face  wore  an  expression  of  ill-will  so 
savage  and  terrific,  that  Eliza  Baynes  said,  "  No,  thank  you, 
Emily  ;  ( Miarlotte  is  still  unwell,  and  1 — I  may  be  wanted  at 
home."  And  the  party  went  away  without  Mrs.  Baynes;  and 
they  were  absent  I  don't  know  how  long:  and  Emily  Mac- 
Whirter  came  back  to  the  boarding-house  in  a  bonnet — the 
sweetest  tiling  you  ever  saw  ! — green  pique  velvet,  with  a  ruchi 
full  of  rosebuds,  and  a  bird  of  paradise  perched  on  the  top, 
pecking  at  a  bunch  of  the  most  magnificent  grapes,  popfjjies, 
ears  of  corn,  barley,  &:c.,  all  indicative  of  the  bounteous  autumn 
season.     Mrs.  General  Bavnes  had  to  see  her  sister  return  homq 


OtV  HIS  WA  Y  TITROUGn  THE   WORLD. 


449 


in  this  elegant  bonnet  \  to  welcome  her  \  to  acquiesce  in  Emily's 
remark  that  the  General  had  clone  (he  genteel  thing  ;  to  hear 
how  the  party  had  further  been  to  Tortoni's  and  had  ices  ;  and 
then  to  go  up  stairs  to  her  own  room,  and  look  at  her  own  bat- 
tered, blowsy  old  chapcati,  with  its  limp  streamers,  hanging  from 
its  peg.  This  humiliation,  I  say,  Eliza  Baynes  had  to  bear  in 
silence,  without  wincing,  and,  if  possible,  with  a  smile  on  lier 
face. 

In  consequence  of  circumstances  before  indicated.  Miss 
Charlotte  was  pronounced  to  be  verj'  much  better  when  her 
papa  returned  from  his  Palais  Royal  trip.  He  found  her  seated 
on  madame's  sofa,  pale,  but  with  the  wonted  sweetness  in  her 
smile.  He  kissed  and  caressed  her  with  many  tender  words. 
I  dare  say  he  told  her  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  he  loved 
so  much  as  his  Charlotte.  He  would  never  willingly  do  any- 
thing to  give  her  pain,  never  !  She  has  been  his  good  girl,  and 
his  blessing,  all  his  life  !  Ah  !  that  is  a  prettier  little  picture 
to  imagine — that  repentant  man,  and  his  child  clinging  to  him 
— than  the  tableau  overhead,  viz.,  Mrs.  Baynes  looking  at  her 
old  bonnet.  Not  one  word  was  said  about  Philip  in  the  talk 
between  Baynes  and  his  daughter,  but  those  tender  paternal 
looks  and  caresses  carried  hope  into  Charlotte's  heart ;  and 
when  her  papa  went  away  (she  said  afterwards  to  a  female 
friend),  "  I  got  up  and  followed  him,  intending  to  show  him 
Philip's  letter.  But  at  the  door  I  saw  mamma  coming  down 
the  stairs  ;  and  she  looked  so  dreadful,  and  frightened  me  so, 
that  I  went  back."  There  are  some  mothers  I  have  heard  of, 
who  won't  allow  their  daughters  to  read  the  works  of  this 
humble  homilist,  lest  they  should  imbibe  "  dangerous  "  notions, 
&c.,  &c.  My  good  ladies,  give  them  "  Goody  Twoshoes  "  if 
you  like,  or  whatever  work,  combining  instruction  and  amuse- 
ment, you  think  most  appropriate  to  their  juvenile  understand- 
ings ;  but  I  beseech  you  to  be  gentle  with  them.  I  never  saw 
people  on  better  terms  with  each  other,  more  frank,  affec- 
tionate, and  cordial,  than  the  parents  and  the  grown-up  young 
folks  in  the  United  States.  And  why  ?  Because  the  children 
w^ere  spoiled,  to  be  sure !  I  say  to  you,  get  the  confidence  of 
yours — before  the  day  comes  of  revolt  and  independence,  after 
\vhich  love  returneth  not. 

Now,  when  Mrs.  Baynes  went  in  to  her  daughter,  who  had 
been  sitting  pretty  comfortably  kissing  her  father  on  the  sofa 
in  madame's  chamber,  all  those  soft  tremulous  smiles  and 
twinkling  dew-drops  of  compassion  and  forgiveness  which  anon 
had  come  to  soothe  the  little  maid,  fled  from  cheek  and  eyes. 

29 


^^c  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

They  began  to  flash  again  with  their  febrile  brightness,  and  her 
heart  to  throb  with  dangerous  rapidity.  "  How  are  you  now  ?  " 
asks  mamma,  with  her  deep  voice.  "  I  am  much  the  same," 
says  the  girl,  beginning  to  tremble.  "  Leave  the  child  ;  you 
agitate  her,  madam,"  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house,  coming  in 
after  Mrs.  Baynes.  That  sad,  humiliated,  deserted  mother 
goes  out  from  her  daughter's  presence,  hanging  her  head.  She 
put  on  the  poor  old  bonnet,  and  had  a  walk  that  evening  on 
the  Champs  Elysees  with  her  little  ones,  and  showed  them 
Guignol  :  she  gave  a  penny  to  Guignol's  man.  It  is  my  belief 
that  she  saw  no  more  of  the  performance  than  her  husband 
had  seen  of  the  ballet  the  night  previous,  when  Taglioni,  and 
Noblet,  and  Duvernay,  danced  before  his  hot  eyes.  But  then, 
you  see,  the  hot  eyes  had  been  washed  with  a  refreshing  water 
since,  which  enabled  them  to  view  the  world  much  more  cheer- 
fully and  brightly.  Ah,  gracious  heaven  gives  us  eyes  to  see 
our  own  wrong,  however  dim  age  may  make  them  ;  and  knees 
not  too  stiff  to  kneel,  in  spite  of  years,  cramps,  and  rheumatism  i 
That  stricken  old  woman,  then,  treated  her  children  to  the 
trivial  comedy  of  Guignol.  She  did  not  cry  out  when  the  two 
boys  climbed  up  the  trees  of  the  Elysian  Fields,  though  the 
guardians  bade  them  descend.  She  bought  pink  sticks  of 
barley-sugar  for  the  young  ones.  Withdrawing  the  glistening 
sweetmeats  from  their  lips,  they  pointed  to  jNIrs.  Hely's  splendid 
barouche  as  it  rolled  citywards  from  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 
The  gray  shades  were  falling,  and  Auguste  was  in  the  act  of 
ringing  the  first  dinner-bell  at  Madame  Smolensk's  establish- 
ment, when  Mrs.  General  T'aynes  returned  to  her  lodgings. 

Meanwhile,  aunt  MacWhirter  had  been  to  pay  a  visit  to 
little  Miss  Charlotte,  in  the  new  bonnet  which  the  General, 
Ciiarlotte's  papa,  had  bought  for  her.  This  elegant  article  had 
furnished  a  subject  of  pleasing  conversation  between  niece  and 
aunt,  who  held  each  other  in  very  kindly  regard,  and  all  the 
details  of  the  bonnet,  the  blue  flowers,  scarlet  flowers,  grapes, 
sheaves  of  corn,  lace,  &c.,  were  examined  and  admired  in  detail. 
Charlotte  remembered  the  dowdy  old  English  thing  which  aunt 
Mac  wore  when  she  went  out .''  Charlotte  did  remember  the 
bonnet,  and  laughed  when  Mrs.  Mac  described  how  papa,  in  the 
hackney-coach  on  their  return  home,  insisted  upon  taking  the 
old  wretch  of  a  bonnet,  and  flinging  it  out  of  the  coach  window 
into  the  road,  where  an  old  chiffonnier  passing  picked  it  up 
with  his  iron  hook,  put  it  on  his  own  head,  and  walked  away 
grinning.  I  declare,  at  the  recital  of  this  narrative,  Charlotte 
laughed  as  pleasantly  and  happily  as  in  former  days  ;  and,  no 


O.V  HIS  VVA  Y  TIIROUGir  THE  WORLD. 


45  > 


doubt,  there  were  more  kisses  between  tliis  poor  little  maid  and 
her  aunt. 

Now,  you  will  remark,  that  the  General  and  his  party,  though 
they  returned  from  the  Palais  Royal  in  a  hackney-coach,  went 
thither  on  foot,  two  and  two — viz..  Major  MacWhirter  leading, 
and  giving  his  arm  to  IMrs.  Bunch,  (who,  I  promise  you,  knew 
the  shops  in  the  Palais  Royal  well,)  and  the  General  following 
at  some  distance,  with  his  sister-in-law  for  a  partner. 

In  that  walk  a  conversation  very  important  to  Charlotte's 
interests  took  place  between  her  aunt  and  her  father. 

"Ah,  Baynes  !  this  is  a  sad  business  about  dearest  Char," 
Mrs.  Mac  broke  out  with  a  sigh. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  Emily,"  says  the  General,  with  a  very  sad 
groan  on  his  part. 

"  It  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  you,  Baynes ;  it  goes  to  Mac's 
heart.  We  talked  about  it  ever  so  late  last  night.  You  were 
suffering  dreadfully ;  and  all  the  brandy-pawnee  in  the  world 
won't  cure  you,  Charles." 

"  No,  faith,"  says  the  General,  with  a  dismal  screw  of  the 
mouth.  "  You  see,  Emily,  to  see  that  child  suffer,  tears  my 
heart  out — by  George,  it  does.  She  has  been  the  best  child, 
and  the  most  gentle,  and  the  merriest,  and  the  most  obedient, 
and  I  never  had  a  word  of  fault  to  tind  with  her ;  and — poo- 
ooh !  "  Here  the  General's  eyes,  which  have  been  winking  with 
extreme  rapidity,  give  way  ;  and  at  the  signal  pooh  !  there  issue 
out  from  them  two  streams  of  that  eye-water  which  we  have  said 
is  sometimes  so  good  for  the  sight. 

"  My  dear  kind  Charles,  you  were  always  a  good  creature," 
says  Emily,  patting  the  arm  on  which  hers  rests.  Meanwhile 
Major-General  Baynes,  C.B.,  puts  his  bamboo  cane  under  his 
disengaged  arm,  extracts  from  his  hind  pocket  a  fine  large 
yellow  bandanna  pocket-handkerchief,  and  performs  a  prodi- 
gious loud  obligato — just  under  the  spray  of  the  Rond-point 
fountain,  opposite  the  Bridge  of  the  Invalides,  over  which  poor 
Philip  has  tramped  many  and  many  a  day  and  night  to  see  his 
little  maid. 

"  Have  a  care  with  your  cane,  there,  old  imbecile  !  "  cries  an 
approaching  foot-passenger,  whom  the  General  meets  and 
charges  with  his  iron  feru:'. 

"  Mille  pardong,  mosoo;  je  vous  demande  mille  pardong," 
says  the  old  man,  quite  meekly. 

"  You  are  a  good  soul,  Charles,"  the  lady  continues  ;  "and 
my  little  Char  is  a  darling.  You  never  would  have  done  this 
of  your  own  accord,     Mercy !     And  see  what  it  was  coming  to ! 


452 


TJIK  ADVENTURES  OE  PJIILir 


Mac  only  told  me  last  night.  You  horrid,  bloodthirsty  creature ! 
T'vvo  challenges — and  dearest  Mac  as  hot  as  pepper !  Oh, 
Charles  Baynes,  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  the  danger  from 
wliich  you  have  all  been  rescued  !  Suppose  you  brought  home 
to  Eliza — suppose  dearest  Mac  brought  home  to  me  killed  by 
this  arm  on  which  I  am  leaning.  Oh,  it  is  dreadful,  dreadful ! 
We  are  sinners  all,  that  we  are,  Baynes  !  " 

"  I  humbly  ask  pardon  for  liaving  thought  of  a  great  crime. 
1  ask  pardon,"  says  the  General,  very  pale  and  solemn. 

"If  you  had  killed  dear  Mac,  would  you  ever  have  had  rest 
again,  Charles  ?  " 

"No;  I  think  not.  I  should  not  deserve  it,"  answers  the 
contrite  Baynes. 

"  You  have  a  good  heart.  It  was  not  you  who  did  this.  I 
know  who  it  was.  She  always  had  a  dreadful  temper.  The 
way  in  which  she  used  to  torture  our  poor  dear  Louisa  who  is 
dead,  I  can  hardly  forgive  now,  Baynes.  Poor  suffering  angel ! 
Eliza  was  at  her  bedside  nagging  and  torturing  her  up  to  the 
\ery  last  day.  Did  you  ever  see  her  with  nurses  and  servants 
in  India  ?     The  way  in  which  she  treated  them  was " 

"  Don't  say  any  more.  I  am  aware  of  my  wife's  faults  of 
temper.  Heaven  knows  it  has  made  me  suffer  enough  !  "  says 
the  General,  hanging  his  head  down. 

"  Why,  man — do  you  intend  to  give  way  to  her  altogether  ? 
I  said  to  Mac  last  night,  '  Mac,  does  he  intend  to  give  way  to 
her  altogether?  The  "Army  List"  doesn't  contain  the  name 
of  a  braver  man  than  Charles  Baynes,  and  is  my  sister  Eliza  to 
rule  him  entirely,  Mac  ! '  I  said.  No,  if  you  stand  up  to  Eliza, 
I  know  from  experience  she  will  give  way.  We  have  had 
quarrels,  scores  and  hundreds,  as  you  know,  Baynes." 

"Faith,  I  do,"  owns  the  General,  with  a  sad  smile  on  his 
countenance. 

"  And  sometimes  she  has  had  the  best  and  sometimes  I  have 
had  the  best,  Baynes  !  But  I  never  yielded,  as  you  do,  without 
a  fight  for  my  own.  No,  never,  Baynes  !  And  me  and  Mac 
are  shocked,  I  tell  you  fairly,  when  we  see  the  way  in  which 
you  give  up  to  her !  " 

"  Come,  come  !  I  think  you  have  told  me  often  enough 
that  I  am  henpecked,"  says  the  General. 

"  And  you  gi\e  up  not  yourself  onl}',  Charles,  but  your  dear, 
dear  child — poor  little  suffering  love  !  " 

"  The  young  man's  a  beggar  !  "  cries  the  General,  biting 
his  lips. 

"  What  were  you,  what  was  Mac  and  me  when  we  married  ? 


ON  HIS  WA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  453 

We  hadn't  much  beside  our  pay,  had  we  ?  we  rubbed  on 
through  bad  weather  and  good,  managing  as  best  we  could, 
loving  each  other,  God  be  praised  !  And  here  we  are,  owing 
nobocly  anything,  and  me  going  to  have  a  new  bonnet  !  "  and 
she  tossed  up  her  head  and  gave  her  companion  a  good-natured 
look  through  her  twinkling  eyes. 

'■  Emily,  you  have  a  good  heart !  that's  the  truth,"  says  the 
General. 

"  And  you  have  a  good  heart,  Charles,  as  sure  as  my 
name's  MacWhirter  ;  and  I  want  you  to  act  upon  it,  and  I 
propose- 


"  What .?  " 

"  Well,  I  propose  that "     But  now  they  have  reached 

the  Tuileries  garden  gates,  and  pass  through,  and  continue 
their  conversation  in  the  midst  of  such  a  hubbub  that  we  can- 
not overhear  them.  They  cross  the  garden,  and  so  make  their 
way  into  the  Palais  Royal,  and  the  purchase  of  the  bonnet 
takes  place  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  excitement  occasioned  by 
that  event,  of  course  all  discussion  of  domestic  affairs  becomes 
uninteresting. 

But  the  gist  of  Baynes's  talk  with  his  sister-in-law  may  be 
divined  from  the  conversation  which  presently  occurred  be- 
tween Charlotte  and  her  aunt.  Charlotte  did  not  come  in  to 
the  public  dinner.  She  was  too  weak  for  that ;  and  "  //;/  boti 
bouillon  "  and  a  wing  of  fowl  were  served  to  her  in  the  private 
apartment,  where  she  had  been  reclining  all  day.  At  dessert, 
however,  Mrs.  MacWhirter  took  a  fine  bunch  of  grapes  and  a 
plump  rosy  peach  from  the  table,  and  carried  them  to  the  little 
maid,  and  their  interview  may  be  described  with  sufficient 
accuracy,  though  it  passed  without  other  witnesses. 

From  the  outbreak  on  the  night  of  quarrels,  Charlotte  knew 
that  her  aunt  was  her  friend.  The  glances  of  Mrs.  Mac- 
Whirter's  eyes,  and  the  expression  of  her  bonny,  homely  face, 
told  her  sympathy  to  the  girl.  There  were  no  pallors  now,  no 
angry  glances,  no  heart-beating.  Miss  Char  could  even  make 
a  little  joke  when  her  aunt  appeared,  and  say,  "  What  beautiful 
grapes  !  Why,  aunt,  you  must  have  taken  them  out  of  the 
new  bonnet." 

"  You  should  have  had  the  bird  of  paradise,  too,  dear,  only 
I  see  you  have  not  eaten  your  chicken.  She  is  a  kind  woman, 
Madame  Smolensk.  I  like  her.  She  gives  very  nice  dinners. 
I  can't  think  how  she  does  it  for  the  money,  I  am  sure  !  " 

"  She  has  been  very,  very  kind  to  me  ;  and  I  love  her  with 
all  my  heart  1  "  cries  Charlotte. 


454 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHI  UP 


"  Poor  darling !  We  have  all  our  trials,  and  yours  have 
begun,  my  love  !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  aunt ! "  whimpers  the  young  person  ;  upon 
which  osculation  possibly  takes  place. 

"  My  dear !  when  your  papa  took  me  to  buy  the  bonnet,  we 
had  a  long  talk,  and  it  was  about  you." 

"  About  me,  aunt  ? "  warbles  Miss  Charlotte. 

"  He  would  not  take  mamma  ;  he  would  only  go  with  me, 
alone.  I  knew  he  wanted  to  say  something  about  you  ;  and 
what  do  you  think  it  was  ?  My  dear,  you  have  been  very  much 
agitated  here.  You  and  your  poor  mamma  are  likely  to  dis- 
agree for  some  time.  She  will  drag  you  to  those  balls  and  fine 
parties,  and  bring  you  \\\0's,Q  fine  partners T 

"  Oh,  I  hate  them  !  "  cries  Charlotte.  Poor  little  Walsing- 
ham  Hely,  what  had  he  done  to  be  hated  ? 

"  Well.  It  is  not  for  me  to  speak  of  a  mother  to  her  own 
daughter.  But  you  know  mamma  has  a  way  with  her.  She 
expects  to  be  obeyed.  She  will  give  you  no  peace.  She  will 
come  back  to  her  point  again  and  again.  You  know  how  she 
speaks  of  some  one — a  certain  gentleman  ?  If  ever  she  sees 
him,  she  will  be  rude  to  him.  Mamma  can  be  rude  at  times — 
that  I  must  say  of  my  own  sister.  As  long  as  you  remain 
here " 

"Oh,  aunt,  aunt!  Don't  take  me  away,  don't  take  me 
away  !  "  cries  Charlotte. 

"  My  dearest,  are  you  afraid  of  your  old  aunt,  and  your 
uncle  Mae,  who  is  so  kind,  and  has  always  loved  you  ?  Major 
MacWhirter  has  a  will  of  his  own,  too,  though  of  course  I 
make  no  allusions.  We  know  how  admirably  somebody  has 
behaved  to  your  family.  Somebody  who  has  been  most  un- 
gratefully treated,  though  of  course  I  make  no  allusions.  If 
you  had  given  away  your  heart  to  your  father's  greatest  betie- 
factor,  do  you  suppose  I  and  uncle  Mac  will  quarrel  with  you  1 
When  Eliza  married  Baynes  (your  father  was  a  penniless 
subaltern,  then,  my  dear, — and  my  sister  was  certainly  neither 
a  fortune  nor  a  beauty,)  didn't  she  go  dead  against  the  wishes 
of  our  father  ?  Certainly  she  did  !  But  she  said  she  was  of 
age — that  she  was,  and  a  great  deal  more,  too — and  she  would 
do  as  she  liked,  and  she  made  Baynes  marry  her.  Why  should 
you  be  afraid  of  coming  to  us,  love  ?  You  are  nearer  some- 
body here,  but  can  you  see  him  ?  Your  mamma  will  never  let 
you  go  out,  but  she  will  follow  you  like  a  shadow.  You  may 
write  to  him.  Don't  tell  !>ie,  child.  Haven't  I  been  young 
myself ;  and  when  there   was   a   difficulty  between  Mac  and 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


455 


poor  papa,  didn't  Mac  write  to  me,  though  he  hates  letters, 
poor  dear,  and  certainly  is  a  stick  at  them.  And,  though  \ve 
were  forbidden,  had  we  not  twenty  ways  of  telegrapliing  to 
each  other  ?  Law  !  your  poor  dear  grandfather  was  in  such  a 
rage  with  me  once,  when  he  found  one,  that  he  took  down  his 
great  buggy  whip  to  me,  a  grown  girl ! " 

Charlotte,  who  has  plenty  of  humor,  would  have  laughed  at 
this  confession  some  other  time,  but  now  she  was  too  mucl/ 
agitated  by  that  invitation  to  quit  Paris,  which  her  aunt  had 
just  given  her.  Quit  Paris  ?  Lose  the  chance  of  seeing  lier 
dearest  friend,  her  protector  ?  If  he  was  not  with  her  was  he 
not  near  her  ?  Yes,  near  her  always  !  On  that  horrible  night, 
when  all  was  so  desperate,  did  not  her  champion  burst  forward 
to  her  rescue  ?  Oh,  the  dearest  and  bravest !  Oh,  the  tender 
and  true  ! 

"  You  are  not  listening,  you  poor  child  !  "  said  aunt  Mac, 
surveying  her  niece  with  looks  of  kindness.  "  Now  listen  to  me 
once  more.  Whisper  !  "  And  sitting  down  on  the  settee  by 
Charlotte's  side,  aunt  Emily  first  kissed  the  girl's  round  cheek, 
and  then  whispered  into  her  ear. 

Never,  I  declare,  was  medicine  so  efficacious,  or  rapid  of 
effect,  as  that  wondrous  distilment  which  aunt  Emily  poured 
into  her  niece's  ear  !  "  Oh,  you  goose  !  "  she  began  by  saying, 
and  the  rest  of  the  charm  she  whispered  into  that  pearly  little 
pink  shell  round  which  Miss  Charlotte's  soft  brown  ringlets 
clustered.  Such  a  sweet  blush  rose  straightway  to  the  cheek  ! 
Such  sweet  lips  began  to  cry,  "  Oh,  you  dear,  dear  aunt," 
and  then  began  to  kiss  aunt's  kind  face,  that,  I  declare,  if  I 
knew  the  spell,  I  would  like  to  pronounce  it  right  off,  with  such 
a  sweet  young  patient  to  practice  on. 

"  When  do  we  go  .''  To-morrow,  aunt,  n'est-ce  pas  ?  Oh,  I 
am  quite  strong  !  never  felt  so  well  in  my  life  !  I'll  go  and 
pack  up  this  instant,'''  cries  the  j'oung  person, 

"  Doucement !  Papa  knows  of  the  plan.  Indeed,  it  was  he 
who  proposed  it." 

"Dearest,  best  father!  "  ejaculates  Miss  Charlotte, 

"  But  mamma  does  not ;  and  if  you  show  yourself  very  eager, 
Charlotte,  she  may  object,  you  know.  Heaven  forbid  that  / 
should  counsel  dissimulation  to  a  child  ;  but  under  the  circum- 
stances, my  love At  least  I  own  what  happened  between 

Mac  and  me.  Law  !  /  didn't  care  for  papa's  buggy  whip  !  I 
knew  it  would  not  hurt ;  and  as  for  Baynes,  I  am  sure  he  would 
not  hurt  a  fly.  Never  was  man  more  sorry  for  what  he  has 
done.     He  told  me  so  whilst  we  walked  away  from  the  bonnet- 


456  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  nil  LIP 

shop,  whilst  he  was  carryuig  my  old  yellow.  We  met  somebody 
near  the  Bourse.  How  sad  he  looked,  and  how  handsome,  too  ! 
/bowed  to  him,  and  kissed  my  hand  to  him,  that  is,  the  knob 
of  my  parasol.  Papa  couldn't  shake  hands  with  him,  because 
of  my  bonnet,  you  know,  in  the  brown-paper  bag.  He  has  a 
grand  beard,  indeed  !  He  looked  like  a  wounded  lion.  I  said 
so  to  papa.  And  I  said,  '  It  is  you  who  wound  him,  Charles 
Baynes  ! '  'I  know  that,'  papa  said.  '  I  have  been  thinking  of 
it.  I  can't  sleep  at  night  for  thinking  about  it :  and  it  makes 
me  dee'd  unhappy.'  You  know  what  papa  sometimes  says  ? 
Dear  me  !  You  should  have  heard  them,  when  Eliza  and  I 
joined  the  army,  years  and  years  ago  I  " 

For  once,  Charlotte  Baynes  was  happy  at  her  father's  being 
unhappy.  The  little  maiden's  heart  had  been  wounded  to  think 
that  her  father  could  do  his  Charlotte  a  wrong.  Ah !  take 
warning  by  him,  ye  graybeards  !  And  however  old  and  tooth- 
less, if  you  have  done  wrong,  own  that  you  have  done  so ;  and 
sit  down  and  say  grace,  and  mumble  your  humble  pie  ! 

The  General,  then,  did  not  shake  hands  with  Philip  ;  but 
Major  MacWhirter  went  up  in  the  most  marked  way,  and  gave 
the  wounded  lion  his  own  paw,  and  said,  "  Mr,  Firmin,  glad  to 
see  you!  If  ever  you  come  to  Tours,  mind,  don't  forget  my 
wife  and  me.  Fine  day.  Little  patient  much  better  !  Bon 
courage,  as  they  say  !  " 

I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  bungle  Philip  made  of  his  corre- 
spondence with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  that  night  ?  Every  man 
who  lives  by  his  pen,  if  by  chance  he  looks  back  at  his  writings 
of  former  years,  lives  in  the  past  again.  Our  griefs,  our 
pleasures,  our  youth,  our  sorrows,  our  dear,  dear  friends, 
resuscitate.  How  we  tingle  with  shame  over  some  of  those  fine 
passages  !  How  dreary  are  those  disinterred  jokes  !  It  was 
Wednesday  night.  Philip  was  writing  off  at  home,  in  his  inn, 
one  of  his  grand  tirades,  dated  "  Paris,  Thursday  " — so  as  to 
be  in  time,  you  understand,  for  the  post  of  Saturday,  when  the 
little  waiter  comes  and  says,  winking,  "  Again  that  lady, 
Monsieur  Philippe  !  " 

"  What  lady  }  "  asks  our  own  intelligent  correspondent. 

"  That  old  lady  who  came  the  other  day,  you  know," 

"  C'est  moi,  mon  ami  !  "  cries  Madame  Smolensk's  well- 
known  grave  voice,  "  Here  is  a  letter,  d'abord.  But  that  says 
nothing.  It  was  written  before  thegrande  nouvelle — the  great 
news — the  good  news  !  " 

"  What  good  news  ?  "  asks  the  gentleman, 

"  In  two  days  miss  goes  to  Tours  with  her  aunt  and  uncle 


THE   POOR    HELPING   THE    POOR. 


^N  HIS  WAY  TIIROUGir  THE  WORLD.  45  r> 

— this  good  Macvirterre.  They  have  taken  their  places  by  the 
diligence  of  Lafitte  and  Caillard.  They  are  thy  friends.  Papa 
encourages  her  going.  Here  is  their  card  of  visit.  Go  thou 
also  ;  they  will  receive  thee  with  open  arms.  What  hast  thou, 
my  son  ?  " 

Philip  looked  dreadfully  sad.  An  injured  and  unfortunate 
gentleman  at  New  York  had  drawn  upon  him,  and  he  had  paid 
away  everything  he  had  but  four  francs,  and  he  was  living  on 
credit  until  his  next  remittance  arrived. 

"  Thou  hast  no  money  !  I  have  thought  of  it.  Behold  of 
it !  Let  him  wait — the  proprietor  !  "  And  she  takes  out  a 
bank-note,  which  she  puts  in  the  young  man's  hand. 

"  Tiens,  il  I'embrasse  encor  c'te  vieille  !  "  says  the  little 
knife-boy.     "  J'aimerai  pas  5a,  moi,  par  examp  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN  THE  DEPARTMENTS  OF  SEINE,  LOIRE  AND  STYX  (iNFERIEURj. 

Our  dear  friend  Mrs.  Paynes  was  suffering  under  the  influ- 
ence of  one  of  those  panics  which  sometimes  seized  her,  and 
during  which  she  remained  her  husband's  most  obedient  Eliza 
and  vassal.  When  Paynes  wore  a  certain  expression  of  coun- 
tenance, we  have  said  that  his  wife  knew  resistance  to  be 
useless.  That  expression,  I  suppose,  he  assumed,  when  he  an- 
nounced Charlotte's  departure  to  her  mother,  and  ordered  Mrs. 
General  Paynes  to  make  the  necessary  preparations  for  the 
girl.  "  She  might  stay  some  time  with  her  aunt,"  Paynes  stated. 
"  A  change  of  air  would  do  the  child  a  great  deal  of  good.  Let 
everything  necessary  in  the  shape  of  hats,  bonnets,  winter 
clothes,  and  so  forth,  be  got  ready."  "  Was  Char,  then,  to  stay 
away  so  long  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  P.  "  She  has  been  so  happy  here 
that  you  want  to  keep  her,  and  fancy  she  can't  be  happy  with- 
out you  !  "  I  can  fancy  the  General  grimly  replying  to  the 
partner  of  his  existence.  Hanging  down  her  withered  head, 
with  a  tear  mayhap  trickling  down  her  cheek,  I  can  fancy  the 
old  woman  silently  departing  to  do  the  bidding  of  her  lord. 
She  selects  a  trunk  out  of  the  store  of  Paynes's  baggage.  A 
young  lady's  trunk  was  a  trunk  in  those  days.  Now  it  is  a  two 
or  three  storied  edifice  of  wood,  in  which  two  or  three  full-grown 


458  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

bodies  of  young  ladies  (without  crinoline)  might  be  packed.  I 
saw  a  little  old  countrywoman  at  the  Folkesone  station  last 
year  with  her  travelling  baggage  contained  in  a  band-box  tied 
up  in  an  old  cotton  handkerchief  hanging  on  her  arm  ;  and  she 
surveyed  Lady  Knightsbridge's  twenty-three  black  trunks,  each 
wellnigh  as  large  as  her  ladyship's  opera-box.  Before  these 
great  edifices  that  old  woman  stood  wondering  dumbly.  That 
old  lady  and  I  had  lived  in  a  time  when  crinoline  was  not ;  and 
yet,  I  think,  women  looked  even  prettier  in  that  time  than  they 
do  now.  Well,  a  trunk  and  a  band-box  were  fetched  out  of  the 
baggage  heap  for  little  Charlotte,  and  I  dare  say  her  little 
brothers  jumped  and  danced  on  the  box  with  much  energy  to 
make  the  lid  shut,  and  the  General  brought  out  his  hammer 
and  nails,  and  nailed  a  card  on  the  box  with  "  Mademoiselle 
Baynes  "  thereon  printed.  And  mamma  had  to  look  on  and 
witness  those  preparations.  And  Walsingham  Hely  had  called  ; 
and  he  wouldn't  call  again,  she  knew  ;  and  that  fair  chance  for 
the  establishment  of  her  child  was  lost  by  the  obstinacy  of  her 
self-willed,  reckless  husband.  That  woman  had  to  water  her 
soup  with  her  furtive  tears,  to  sit  of  nights  behind  hearts  and 
spades,  and  brood  over  her  crushed  hopes.  If  I  contemplate 
that  wretched  old  Niobe  much  longer,  I  shall  begin  to  pity  her. 
Away  softness  !  Take  out  thy  arrows,  the  poisoned,  the  barbed, 
the  rankling,  and  prod  me  the  old  creature  well,  god  of  the 
silver  bow  !  Eliza  Baynes  had  to  look  on,  then,  and  see  the 
trunks  packed  ;  to  see  her  own  authority  over  her  own  daughter 
wrested  away  from  her  ;  to  see  the  undutiful  girl  prepare  with 
perfect  delight  and  alacrity  to  go  away,  without  feeling  a  pang 
at  leaving  a  mother  who  had  nursed  her  through  adverse  ill- 
nesses :  who  had  scolded  her  for  seventeen  years. 

The  General  accompanied  the  party  to  the  diligence  office. 
Little  Char  was  very  pale  and  melancholy  indeed  when  she  took 
her  place  in  the  coupe.  "  She  should  have  a  corner  :  she  had 
been  ill,  and  ought  to  have  a  corner,"  uncle  Mac  said,  and 
cheerfully  consented  to  be  bodkin.  Our  three  special  friends 
are  seated.  The  other  passengers  clamber  into  their  places. 
Away  goes  the  clattering  team,  as  the  General  waves  an  adieu 
to  his  friends.  "  Monstrous  fine  horses  those  gray  Normans  ; 
famous  breed,  indeed,"  he  remarks  to  his  wife  on  his  return. 

"  Indeed,"  she  echoes.  "  Pray,  in  what  part  of  the  carriage 
was  Mr.  Firmin  ?  "  she  presently  asks. 

"  In  no  part  of  the  carriage  at  all !  "  Baynes  answers  fiercely, 
turning  beet-root  red.  And  thus,  though  she  had  been  silent, 
obedient,  hanging  her  head,  the  woman  showed  that  she  was 


ON  ins  WAY  THRO UG II  THE   WORLD. 


459 


aware  of  her  master's  schemes,  and  why  her  girl  had  been  taken 
away.  She  knew;  but  she  was  beaten.  It  remained  for  her 
but  to  be  silent  and  bow  her  head.  I  dare  say  she  did  not 
sleep  one  wink  that  night.  She  followed  the  diligence  in  its 
journey.  "Char  is  gone,"  she  thought.  "Yes;  indue  time 
he  will  take  from  me  the  obedience  of  my  other  children,  and  tear 
them  out  of  my  lap."  He — that  is,  the  General — was  sleeping 
meanwhile.  He  had  had  in  the  last  few  days  four  awful  battles 
— with  his  child,  with  his  friends,  with  his  wife — in  which  latter 
combat  he  had  been  conqueror.  No  wonder  Baynes  was  tired, 
and  needed  rest.  Any  one  of  those  engagements  was  enough 
to  weary  the  veteran. 

If  we  take  the  liberty  of  looking  into  double-bedded  rooms 
and  peering  into  the  thoughts  which  are  passing  under  private 
nightcaps,  may  we  not  examine  the  coupe  of  a  jingling  diligence 
with  an  open  window,  in  which  a  young  lady  sits  wide  awake 
by  the  side  of  her  uncle  and  aunt }  These  perhaps  are  asleep  ; 
but  she  is  not.  Ah  !  she  is  thinking  of  another  journey  !  that 
blissful  one  from  Boulogne,  when  ht  was  there  yonder  in  the 
imperial,  by  the  side  of  the  conductor.  When  the  MacWhirter 
party  had  come  to  the  diligence  office,  how  her  little  heart  had 
beat  !  How  she  had  looked  under  the  lamps  at  all  the  people 
lounging  about  the  court !  How  she  had  listened  when  the 
clerk  called  out  the  names  of  the  passengers  ;  and,  mercy, 
what  a  fright  she  had  been  in,  lest  he  should  be  there  after  all, 
while  she  stood  yet  leaning  on  her  father's  arm  !     But  there 

was   no well,  names,  I  think,  need  scarcely  be  mentioned. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  individual  in  question.  Papa  kissed 
her,  and  sadly  said  good-by.  Good  madame  Smolensk  came 
Avith  an  adieu  and  an  embrace  for  her  dear  Miss,  and  whis- 
pered, "  Courage,  mon  enfant,"  and  then  said,  "  Hold,  I  have 
brought  you  some  bonbons."  There  they  were  in  a  little 
packet.  Little  Charlotte  put  the  packet  into  her  little  basket. 
Away  goes  the  diligence,  but  the  individual  had  made  no  sign. 

Away  goes  the  diligence  ;  and  every  now  and  then  Charlotte 
feels  the  little  packet  in  her  little  basket.  What  does  it  contain 
— oh,  what  ?  If  Charlotte  could  but  read  with  her  heart,  she 
would  see  in  that  little  packet — the  sweetest  bonbon  of  all  per- 
haps it  might  be,  or,  ah  me  !  the  bitterest  almond  !  Through 
the  night  goes  the  diligence,  passing  relay  after  relay.  Uncle 
Mac  sleeps.  I  think  I  have  said  he  snored.  Aunt  Mac  is 
quite  silent,  and  Char  sits  plaintively  with  her  lonely  thoughts 
and  her  bonbons,  as  miles,  hours,  relays  pass. 

"  These  ladies  will  they  descend  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee,  a 


460  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

cup  of  bouillon  ?  "  at  last  cries  a  waiter  at  the  coupe  door,  as 
the  carriage  stops  in  Orleans.  "  By  all  means  a  cup  of  coffee," 
says  aunt  Mac.  "The  little  Orleans  wine  is  good,"  cries  uncle 
Mac.  "  Descendons  !  "  "  This  way,  niadame,"  says  the 
waiter.     "  Charlotte  my  love,  some  coffee  ?  " 

"  I  will — I  will  stay  in  the  carriage.  I  don't  want  anything, 
thank  you,"  says  Miss  Charlotte.  And  the  instant  her  rela- 
tions are  gone,  entering  the  gate  of  the  "  Lion  Noir,"  where, 
you  know,  are  the  Bureaux  des  Messageries  Lafitte,  Caillard  et 
C'* — I  say,  on  the  very  instant  when  her  relations  have  disap- 
peared, what  do  you  think  Miss  Charlotte  does  ? 

She  opens  that  packet  of  bonbons  with  fingers  that  tremble 
— tremble  so,  I  wonder  how  she  could  undo  the  knot  of  the 
string  (or  do  you  think  she  had  untied  that  knot  under  her 
shawl  in  the  dark  ?  I  can't  say.  We  never  shall  know).  Well ; 
she  opens  the  packet.  She  does  not  care  one  fig  for  the  lolli- 
pops, almonds,  and  so  forth.  She  pounces  on  a  little  scrap  of 
prp^r,  and  is  going  to  read  it  by  the  light  of  the  steaming 
stable  lanterns,  when oh,  what  made  her  start  so  ? 

In  those  old  days  there  used  to  be  two  diligences  which 
travelled  nightly  to  Tours,  setting  out  at  the  same  hour,  and 
stopping  at  almost  the  same  relays.  The  diligence  of  Lafitte 
and  Caillard  supped  at  the  "  Lion  Noir  "  at  Orleans — the  dili- 
gence of  the  Messageries  Royales  stopped  at  the  "  Ecu  de 
France,"  hard  by. 

Well,  as  the  Messageries  Royales  are  supping  at  the  "  Ecu 
de  France,"  a  passenger  strolls  over  from  that  coach,  and  strolls 
and  strolls  until  he  comes  to  the  coach  of  Lafitte,  Caillard,  and 
Company,  and  to  the  coupe  window  where  Miss  Baynes  is  try- 
ing to  decipher  her  bonbon. 

He  comes  up — and  as  the  night-lamps  fall  on  his  face  and 

beard — his  rosy  face,  his  yellow  beard — oh  ! What  means 

that  scream  of  the  young  lady  in  the  coupe  of  Lafitte,  Caillard 
et  Compagnie  !  I  declare  she  has  dropped  the  letter  which 
she  was  about  to  read.  It  has  dropped  into  a  pool  of  mud 
under  the  diligence  off  fore-wheel.  And  he  with  the  yellow 
beard,  and  a  sweet  happy  laugh,  and  a  tremble  in  his  deep 
voice,  says,  "  You  need  not  read  it.  It  was  only  to  tell  you 
what  you  know." 

Then  the  coupe'  window  says,  "Oh,  Philip!  Oh,  my " 

My  what  ?  You  cannot  hear  the  words,  because  the  gray 
Norman  horses  come  squealing  and  clattering  up  to  their 
coach-pole  with  such  accompanying  cries  and  imprecations 
from  the  horsekeepers  and  postilfons,  that  no  wonder  the  litde 


O.V  //IS  IVAY  TI/ROUG//  T//E  WO/^LD.  461 

warble  is  lost.  It  vffas  not  intended  for  you  and  me  to  hear  ; 
but  perhaps  you  can  guess  the  purport  of  the  words.  Perhaps 
in  quite  old,  old  days,  you  may  remember  having  heard  such 
little  whispers,  in  a  time  when  the  song-birds  in  your  grove 
carolled  that  kind  of  song  very  pleasantly  and  freely.  But 
this,  my  good  madam,  is  written  in  February.  The  birds  are 
gone  :  the  branches  are  bare  :  the  gardener  has  actually  swept 
the  leaves  off  the  walks  :  and  the  whole  affair  is  an  affair  of  a 
past  )'ear,  you  understand.  Well !  carpc  diem,  fitgit  /lora,  &c., 
&c.  There,  for  one  minute,  for  two  minutes,  stands  Philip 
over  the  diligence  off  fore-wheel,  talking  to  Charlotte  at  the 
window,  and  their  heads  are  quite  close — quite  close.  What 
are  those  pairs  of  lips  warbling,  whispering?  "Hi!  Gare ! 
Ohe' !  "  The  horsekeepers,  I  say,  quite  prevent  you  from 
hearing ;  and  here  come  the  passengers  out  of  the  "  Lion 
Noir,''  aunt  Mac  still  munching  a  great  slice  of  bread-and- 
butter.  Charlotte  is  quite  comfortable,  and  does  not  want 
anything,  dear  aunt,  thank  you.  I  hope  she  nestles  in  her 
corner,  and  has  a  sweet  slumber.  On  the  journey  the  twin 
diligences  pass  and  repass  each  other.  Perhaps  Charlotte 
looks  out  of  her  window  sometimes  and  towards  the  other  car- 
riage. I  don't  know.  It  is  a  long  time  ago.  What  used  you 
to  do  in  old  days,  ere  railroads  were,  and  when  diligences  ran  ? 
They  were  slow  enough  :  but  they  have  got  to  their  journey's 
end  somehow.  They  were  tight,  hot,  dusty,  dear,  stuffy,  and 
uncomfortable  ;  but,  for  all  that,  travelling  was  good  sport 
sometimes.  And  if  the  world  would  have  the  kindness  to  go 
back  for  five-and-twenty  or  thirty  years,  some  of  us  who  have 
travelled  on  the  Tours  and  Orleans  Railway  very  comfortably 
would  like  to  take  the  diligence  journey  now. 

Having  myself  seen  the  city  of  Tours  only  last  year,  of 
course  I  don't  remember  much  about  it.  A  man  remembers 
boyhood,  and  the  first  sight  of  Calais,  and  so  forth.  But  after 
much  travel  or  converse  with  the  world,  to  see  a  new  town  is 
to  be  introduced  to  Jones.  He  is  like  Brown  ;  he  is  not  unlike 
Smith.  In  a  little  while  you  hash  him  up  with  Thompson.  I 
dare  not  be  particular,  then,  regarding  Mr.  Firmin's  life  at 
Tours,  lest  I  should  make  topographical  errors,  for  which  the 
critical  schoolmaster  would  justly  inflict  chastisement.  In  the 
last  novel  I  read  about  Tours,  there  were  blunders  from  the 
effect  of  which  you  know  the  wretched  author  never  recovered. 
It  was  by  one  Scott,  and  had  young  Quentin  Durward  for  a 
hero,  and  Isabel  de  Croye  for  a  heroine  •  and  she  sat  in  her 
hostel,   and  sang,  "Ah,   County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh."     A 


462  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rilJLfP 

pretty  ballad  enough  :  but  what  ignorance,  my  dear  sir  !  Wliat 
descriptions  of  Tours,  of  Lie'ge,  are  in  that  fallacious  story  ! 
Yes,  so  fallacious  and  misleading,  that  I  remember  I  was  sorry, 
not  because  the  description  was  unlike  Tours,  but  because 
Tours  was  unlike  the  description. 

So  Quentin  Firniin  went  and  put  up  at  the  snug  little  hostel 
of  the  "  Faisan  ;  "  and  Isabel  de  Baynes  took  up  her  abode 
with  her  uncle  the  Sire  de  Mac\\'hirter ;  and  I  believe  Master 
Firmin  had  no  more  money  in  his  pocket  than  the  Master 
Durward  whose  story  the  Scottish  novelist  told  some  forty 
years  since.  And  I  cannot  promise  you  that  our  young  English 
adventurer  shall  marry  a  noble  heiress  of  vast  property,  and 
engage  the  Boar  of  Ardennes  in  a  hand-to-hand  combat ;  that 
sort  of  Boar,  madam,  does  not  appear  in  our  modern  drawing- 
room  histories.  Of  others,  not  wild,  there  be  plenty.  They 
gore  you  in  clubs.  They  seize  you  by  the  doublet,  and  pin  you 
against  posts  in  public  streets.  They  run  at  you  in  parks.  I 
have  seen  them  sit  at  bay  after  dinner,  ripping,  gashing,  tossing, 
a  whole  company.  These  our  young  adventurer  had  in  good 
sooth  to  encounter,  as  is  the  case  with  most  knights.  Who 
escapes  them  ?  I  remember  an  eminent  person  talking  to  me 
about  bores  for  two  hours  once.  Oh,  you  stupid  eminent 
person  !  You  never  knew  that  you  yourself  had  tusks,  little  eyes 
in  your  hiire  ;  a  bristly  mane  to  cut  into  tooth-brushes  ;  and  a 
curly  tail  !  I  have  a  notion  that  the  multitude-  of  bores  is 
enormous  in  the  world.  If  a  man  is  a  bore  himself,  when  he  is 
bored — and  you  can't  deny  this  statement — then  what  am  I, 
what  are  you,  what  your  father,  grandfather,  son — all  your 
amiable  acquaintance,  in  a  word  ?  Of  this  I  am  sure.  Major 
and  Mrs.  MacWhirter  were  not  brilliant  in  conversation.  What 
would  3-ou  and  I  do,  or  say,  if  we  listen  to  the  tittle-tattle  of 
Tours.  How  the  clergyman  w^as  certainly  too  fond  of  cards, 
and  going  to  the  cafd  ;  how  the  dinners  those  Popjoys  gave 
were  too  absurdly  ostentatious  ;  and  Popjoy,  we  know,  in  the 
Bench  last  year.  How  Mrs.  Flights,  going  on  with  that  Major 
of  French  Carabiniers,  was  really  too  &c.,  <S:c.  "  How  could  I 
endure  those  people  ?  "  Philip  would  ask  himself,  when  talking 
of  that  personage  in  after  days,  as  he  loved,  and  loves  to  do. 
"How  could  I  endure  them,  I  say?  Mac  was  a  good  man  ; 
but  I  knew  secretly  in  my  heart,  sir,  that  he  was  a  bore.  Well  : 
I  loved  him.  I  liked  his  old  stories.  I  liked  his  bad  old 
dinners  :  there  is  a  very  comfortable  Touraine  wine,  by  the  way 
— a  very  warming  little  wine,  sir.  Mrs.  Mac  you  never  saw, 
my  good  Mrs.  Pendennis.     Be  sure  of  this,  you  never  would 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  463 

have  liked  her.  Well,  I  did.  I  liked  her  house,  though  it  was 
damp,  in  a  damp  garden,  frequented  by  dull  people.  I  should 
like  to  go  and  see  that  old  house  now.  I  am  perfecdy  happy 
with  my  wife,  but  I  sometimes  go  away  from  her  to  enjoy  the 
luxury  of  living  over  our  old  days  again.  With  nothing  in  the 
world  but  an  allowance  which  was  precarious,  and  had  been 
spent  in  advance  ;  with  no  particular  plans  for  the  future,  and 
a  few  five-franc  pieces  for  the  present, — by  Jove,  sir,  how  did 
I  dare  to  be  so  happy  ?  What  idiots  we  were,  my  love,  to  be 
liappy  at  all !  We  were  mad  to  marry.  Don't  tell  me  :  with  a 
purse  which  didn't  contain  three  months'  consumption,  would 
we  dare  to  marry  now  ?  We  should  be  put  into  the  mad  ward 
of  the  workhouse  :  that  would  be  the  only  place  for  us.  Talk 
about  trusting  in  heaven.  Stuff  and  nonsense,  ma'am  !  I 
have  as  good  a  right  to  go  and  buy  a  house  in  Belgrave  Square, 
and  trust  to  heaven  for  the  payment,  as  I  had  to  marry  when 
I  did.  We  were  paupers,  Mrs.  Char,  and  you  know  that  very 
well  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  We  were  very  wrong :  very  !  "  says  Mrs.  Char- 
I  >tte,  looking  up  to  her  chandelier  (which,  by  the  way,  is  of 
very  handsome  Venetian  old  glass).  "  We  were  very  wrong, 
were  not  we,  my  dearest  ? "  And  herewith  she  will  begin  to 
kiss  and  fondle  two  or  more  babies  that  disport  in  her  room — 
as  if  two  or  more  babies  had  anything  to  do  with  Philip's 
argument,  that  a  man  has  no  right  to  marry  who  has  no  pretty 
well-assured  means  of  keeping  a  wife. 

Here,  then,  by  the  banks  of  Loire,  although  Philip  had  but 
a  very  few  francs  in  his  pocket,  and  was  obliged  to  keep  a 
sharp  look-out  on  his  expenses  at  the  Hotel  of  the  "  Golden 
Pheasant,"  he  passed  a  fortnight  of  such  happiness  as  I,  for  my 
part,  wish  to  all  young  folks  who  read  his  veracious  history. 
Though  he  was  so  poor,  and  ate  and  drank  so  modestly  in  the 
house,  the  maids,  waiters,  the  landlady  of  the  "  Pheasant,"  were 
as  civil  to  him — yes,  as  civil  as  they  were  to  the  gouty  old 
Marchioness  of  Carabas  herself,  who  stayed  here  on  her 
way  to  the  south,  occupied  the  grand  apartments,  quarrelled 
with  her  lodging,  dinner,  breakfast,  bread-and-butter  in 
general,  insulted  the  landlady  in  bad  French,  and  only  paid 
her  bill  under  compulsion.  Philip's  was  a  little  bill,  but  he 
paid  it  cheerfully.  He  gave  only  a  small  gratuity  to  the 
servants,  but  he  was  kind  and  hearty,  and  they  knew  he  was 
poor.  He  was  kind  and  hearty,  I  suppose  because  he  was  so 
happy.  I  have  known  the  gentleman  to  be  by  no  means  civil  ; 
and  have  heard  him  storm,  and  hector,  and  browbeat  landlord 


^6^  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  ri/ILIP 

and  waiters,  as  fiercely  as  the  Marquis  of  Carabas  himself. 
But  now  Philip  the  Bear  was  the  most  gentle  of  bears,  because 
his  little  Charlotte  was  leading  him. 

Away  with  trouble  and  doubt,  with  squeamish  pride  and 
gloomy  care  !  Philip  had  enough  money  for  a  fortnight,  during 
which  Tom  Glazier,  of  the  Monitor,  promised  to  supply  Philip's 
letters  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazdic.  All  the  designs  of  France, 
Spain,  Russia,  gave  that  idle  "  our  correspondent  "  not  the 
slightest  anxiety.  In  the  morning  it  was  Miss  Baynes  ;  in  the 
afternoon  it  was  Miss  Baynes.  At  six  it  was  d'r.ner  and  Char- 
lotte ;  at  nine  it  was  Charlotte  and  tea.  "  Anyhow,  love-making 
does  not  spoil  his  appetite,"  Major  MacWhirter  remarked. 
Indeed,  Philip  had  a  glorious  appetite  ;  and  health  bloomed  in 
Miss  Charlotte's  cheek,  and  beamed  in  her  happy  little  heart. 
Dr.  Urmin,  in  the  height  of  his  practice,  never  completed  a 
cure  more  skilfully  than  that  which  was  performed  by  Dr. 
Firmin,  junior. 

"  I  ran  the  thing  so  close,  sir,"  I  remember  Philip  bawling 
out,  in  his  usual  energetic  wa}^  whilst  describing  this  period  of 
his  life's  greatest  happiness  to  his  biographer,  "  that  I  came 
back  to  Paris  outside  the  diligence,  and  had  not  money  enough 
to  dine  on  the  road.  But  I  bought  a  sausage,  sir,  and  a  bit  of 
bread — and  a  brutal  sausage  it  was,  sir — and  I  reached  my 
lodgings  with  exactly  two  sous  in  my  pocket."  Roger  Bontemps 
himself  was  not  more  content  than  our  easy  philosopher. 

So  Philip  and  Charlotte  ratified  and  sealed  the  treaty  of 
Tours,  which  they  determined  should  never  be  broken  by  either 
party.  Marry  without  papa's  consent?  Oh,  never!  Marry 
anybody  but  Philip?  Oh,  never — never!  Not  if  she  lived  to 
be  a  hundred,  when  Philip  would  in  consequence  be  in  his 
hundred  and  ninth  or  tenth  year,  would  this  young  Joan  have 
any  but  her  present  Darby.  Aunt  Mac,  though  she  may  not 
have  been  the  most  accomplished  or  highly-bred  of  ladies,  was 
a  warm-hearted  and  affectionate  aunt  Mac.  She  caught  in  a 
mild  form  the  fever  from  these  young  people.  She  had  not 
much  to  leave,  and  Mac's  relations  would  want  all  he  could 
spare  when  he  was  gone.  But  Charlotte  should  have  her  gar- 
nets, and  her  teapot,  and  her  India  shawl — that  she  should.* 
And  with  many  blessings  this  enthusiastic  old  lady  took  leave 
of  her  future  nephew-in-law  when  he  returned  to  Paris  and 
duty.     Crack  your  whip,  and  scream  your  /// .'  and  be  off  quick, 

*  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  later  days,  afti^r  Mrs.  Major  Mac Whirter's  decease,  it  was 
found  that  she  had  jiromised  these  treasures  hi  writing  to  several  members  of  her  liusband's 
family,  and  that  much  heart-burning  arose  in  consequence.  But  our  story  has  nothing  to 
do  with  these  painful  disputes. 


OJV  Ills  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  465 

postilion  and  diligence !  I  am  glad  we  have  taken  Mr.  Firmin 
out  of  that  dangerous,  lazy  love-making  place.  Nothing  is  to 
me  so  sweet  as  sentimental  writing.  I  could  have  written  hun- 
dreds o£  pages  describing  Philip  and  Charl.otte,  Charlotte  and 
Philip.  But  a  stern  sense  of  duty  inter\'enes.  My  modest 
Muse  puts  a  finger  on  her  lip,  and  says,  "  Hush  about  that 
business ! "  Ah,  my  worthy  friend,  you  little  know  what 
soft-hearted  people  those  cynics  are  !  If  you  could  have  come 
on  Diogenes  by  surprise,  I  dare  say  you  might  have  found  him 
reading  sentimental  novels  and  whimpering  in  his  tub.  Pliilip 
shall  leave  his  sweetheart  and  go  back  to  his  business,  and  we 
will  not  have  one  word  about  tears,  promises,  raptures,  parting. 
Never  mind  about  these  sentimentalities,  but  please,  rather,  to 
depict  to  yourself  our  young  fellow  so  poor  that  when  the  coach 
stops  for  dinner  at  Orleans  he  can  only  afford  to  purchase  a 
penny-loaf  and  a  sausage  for  his  own  hungry  cheek.  When  he 
reached  the  "  Hotel  Poussin,"  with  his  meagre  carpet-bag,  they 
served  him  a  supper  which  he  ate  to  the  admiration  of  all  be- 
holders in  the  little  coffee-room.  He  was  in  gay  spirits  and 
gayety.  He  did  not  care  to  make  any  secret  of  his  poverty, 
and  how  he  had  been  unable  to  afford  to  pay  for  dinner.  Most 
of  the  guests  at  "  Hotel  Poisson  "  knew  what  it  was  to  be  poor. 
Often  and  often  they  had  dined  on  credit  when  they  put  back 
their  napkins  into  their  respective  pigeon-holes.  But  my 
landlord  knew  his  guests.  They  were  poor  men — honest  men. 
They  paid  him  in  the  end,  and  each  could  help  his  neighbor 
in  a  strait. 

After  Mr.  Firmin's  return  to  Paris,  he  did  not  care  for  a 
while  to  go  to  the  Elysian  Fields.  They  were  not  Elysian  for 
him,  except  in  Miss  Charlotte's  company.  He  resumed  his 
newspaper  correspondence,  which  occupied  a  day  in  each 
week,  and  he  had  the  other  six — nay,  he  scribbled  on  the 
seventh  day  likewise,  and  covered  immense  sheets  of  letter- 
paper  with  remarks  upon  all  manner  of  subjects,  addressed  to  a 
certain  Mademoiselle,  Mademoiselle  Baynes,  chez  M.  le  Major 
Mac,  &c.  On  these  sheets  of  paper  Mr.  Firmin  could  talk  so 
long,  so  loudly,  so  fervently,  so  eloquently  to  Miss  Baynes,  that 
she  was  never  tired  of  hearing,  or  he  of  holding  forth.  He 
began  imparting  his  dreams  and  his  earliest  sensations  to  his 
beloved  before  breakfast.  At  noon-day  he  gave  her  his  opin- 
ion of  the  contents  of  the  morning  papers.  His  packet  was 
ordinarily  full  and  brimming  over  by  post-time,  so  that  his 
expressions  of  love  and  fidelity  leaked  from  under  the  cover,  or 
were  squeezed  into  the  queerest  corners,  where,  no  doubt,  it  was  a 

50 


466 


TIIR  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


delightful  task  for  Miss  Baynes  to  trace  out  and  detect  those 
little  Cui^ids  which  a  faithful  lover  despatched  to  her.  It 
would  be,  "  I  have  found  this  little  corner  unoccupied.  Do 
you  know  what  I  have  to  say  in  it  ?  Oh,  Charlotte,  I,"  &:c.,&c. 
My  sweet  young  lady,  }-ou  can  guess,  or  will  one  day  guess,  the 
rest ;  and  will  receive  such  dear,  delightful,  nonsensical  double 
letter^,  and  will  answer  them  with  that  elegant  propriety  which 
I  have  no  doubt  Miss  Baynes  showed  in  her  replies.  Ah !  if 
all  who  are  writing  and  receiving  such  letters,  or  who  have 
written  and  received  such,  or  who  remember  writing  and  re- 
ceiving such  letters,  would  order  a  copy  of  this  novel  from  the 
publishers,  what  reams,  and  piles,  and  pyramids  of  paper  our 
ink  would  have  to  blacken  !  Since  Charlotte  and  Philip  had 
been  engaged  to  each  other,  he  had  scarcely,  except  in  those 
dreadful,  ghastly  days  of  quarrel,  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  absence 
from  his  soul's  blessing — the  exquisite  delights  of  writing  to 
her.  He  could  do  few  things  in  moderation,  this  man — and  of 
this  delightful  privilege  of  writing  to  Charlotte  he  now  enjoyed 
his  heart's  fill. 

After  brief  enjoyment  of  the  weeks  of  this  rapture,  when 
winter  was  come  on  Paris,  and  icicles  hung  on  the  bough,  how 
did  it  happen  that  one  day,  two  days,  three  days  passed,  and 
the  postman  brought  no  little  letter  in  the  well-known  little 
handwriting  for  Monsieur  Philip  Firmin,  a  Paris  ?  Three  days, 
four  days,  and  no  letter.  O  torture,  could  she  be  ill  ?  Could 
her  aunt  and  uncle  have  turned  against  her,  and  forbidden  her 
to  write,  as  her  father  and  mother  had  done  before  ?  O  grief, 
and  sorrow,  and  rage  !  As  for  jealousy,  our  leonine  friend 
never  knew  such  a  passion.  It  never  entered  into  his  lordly 
heart  to  doubt  of  his  little  maiden's  love.  But  still  four,  five 
days  have  passed,  and  not  one  word  has  come  from  Tours. 
The  little  "  Hotel  Poussin  "  was  in  a  commotion.  I  have  said 
that  when  our  friend  felt  any  passion  very  strongly  he  was  sure 
to  speak  of  it.  Did  Don  Quixote  lose  any  opportunity  of 
declaring  to  the  world  that  Dulcinea  del  Toboso  was  peerless 
among  women  ?  Did  not  Antar  bawl  out  in  battle,  "  I  am  the 
lover  of  Ibla  ?  "  Our  knight  had  taken  all  the  people  of  the 
hotel  into  his  confidence  somehow.  They  all  knew  of  his  con- 
dition —  all,  the  painter,  the  poet,  the  half-pay  Polish  officer, 
the  landlord,  the  hostess,  down  to  the  little  knife-boy  who  used 
to  come  in  with,  "  The  factor  comes  of  to  pass — no  letter  this 
morning." 

No  doubt  Philip's  political  letters  became,  under  this  out- 
ward pressure,  \ery  desponding  and  gloomy.     One  day,  as  he 


ON  HTS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  ^Cj 

sat  gnawing  his  mustaches  at  his  desk,  the  little  Anatole  en 
ters  his  apartment  and  cries,  "  Tenez,  M.  Philippe.  That  lady 
again  I "  And  the  faithful,  the  watchful,  the  active  Madame 
Smolensk  once  more  made  her  appearance  in  his  chamber. 

Philip  blushed  and  hung  his  head  for  shame.  "  Ungrateful 
brute  that  I  am,"  he  thought ;  "  I  have  been  back  more  than  a 
week,  and  never  thought  a  bit  about  that  good,  kind  soul  who 
came  to  my  succor.  I  am  an  awful  egotist.    Love  is  always  so." 

As  he  rose  up  to  greet  his  friend,  she  looked  so  grave,  and 
pale,  and  sad,  that  he  could  not  but  note  her  demeanor.  "  Bon 
Dieu  !  had  anything  happened  ?  " 

"  Ce  pauvre  Ge'ne'ral  is  ill,  very  ill,  Philip,"  Smolensk  said, 
in  her  grave  voice. 

He  was  so  gravely  ill,  Madame  said,  that  his  daughter  had 
been  sent  for. 

"  Had  she  come  ?  "  asked  Philip,  with  a  start. 

"  You  think  but  of  her — you  care  not  for  the  poor  old  man. 
You  are  all  the  same,  you  men.  All  egotists — all.  Go !  I 
know  you  !     I  never  knew  one  that  w^as  not,"  said  madame. 

Philip  has  his  little  faults  :  perhaps  egotism  is  one  of  his 
defects.     Perhaps  it  is  yours,  or  even  mine. 

"  You  have  been  here  a  week  since  Thursday  last,  and  you 
have  never  written  or  sent  to  a  woman  who  loves  you  well. 
Go !     It  was  not  well.  Monsieur  Philippe." 

As  soon  as  he  saw  her,  Philip  felt  that  he  had  been  ne- 
glectful and  ungrateful.  We  have  owned  so  much  already. 
But  how  should  madame  know  that  he  had  returned  on  Thurs- 
day week  ?  When  they  looked  up  after  her  reproof,  his  eager 
eyes  seemed  to  ask  this  question. 

"  Could  she  not  write  to  me  and  tell  me  that  you  were  come 
back  ?  Perhaps  she  knew  that  you  would  not  do  so  yourself. 
A  woman's  heart  teaches  her  these  experiences  early,"  con- 
tinued the  lady,  sadly ;  then  she  added  :  "  I  tell  you,  you  are 
good-for-nothings,  all  of  you  !  And  I  repent  me,  see  you,  of 
having  had  the  betise  to  pity  you  !  " 

"  I  shall  have  my  quarter's  pay  on  Saturday.  I  was  coming 
to  you  then,"  said  Philip. 

"  Was  it  that  I  was  speaking  of  }  What  !  you  are  all  cow- 
ards, men  all  !  Oh,  that  I  have  been  beast,  beast,  to  think  at 
last  I  had  found  a  man  of  heart !  " 

How  much  or  how  often  this  poor  Ariadne  had  trusted  and 
been  forsaken,  I  have  no  means  of  knowing,  or  desire  of  in- 
quiring. Perhaps  it  is  as  well  for  the  polite  reader,  who  is 
taken  into  my  entire  confidence,  that  we    should  not  know 


46S  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Madame  de  Smolensk's  history  from  the  first  page  to  the  last. 
Granted  that  Ariadne  was  deceived  by  Theseus  :  but  then  she 
consoled  herself,  as  we  may  all  read  in  "  Smith's  Dictionary  ; " 
and  then  she  must  have  deceived  her  father  in  order  to  run 
away  with  Theseus.     I   suspect —  I  suspect,  1  say,  that  these 

women  who  are  so  very  much   betrayed,  are but  we   are 

speculating  on  this  French  lady's  antecedents,  when  Charlotte, 
her  lover,  and  her  family  are  the  persons  with  whom  we  have 
mainly  to  do. 

These  two,  I  suppose,  forgot  self,  about  which  each  for  a 
moment  had  been  busy,  and  Madame  resumed  : — "  Yes,  you 
have  reason  ;  Miss  is  here.  It  was  time.  Hold  !  Here  is  a 
note  from  her."  And  Philip's  kind  messenger  once  more  put  a 
paper  into  his  hands. 

"  My  dearest  father  is  very,  very  ill.  Oh,  Philip  !  I  am  so 
unhappy ;  and  he  is  so  good,  and  gentle,  and  kind,  and  loves 
me  so  ! " 

"  It  is  true,"  madamc  resumed.  "  Before  Charlotte  came,  he 
thought  only  of  her.  When  his  wife  comes  up  to  him,  he  turns 
from  her.  I  have  not  loved  her  much,  that  lady,  that  is  true. 
P»ut  to  see  her  now,  it  is  navrant.  He  will  take  no  medicine  from 
her.  He  pushes  her  away.  Before  Charlotte  came,  he  sent 
for  me,  and  spoke  as  well  as  his  poor  throat  would  let  him,  this 
poor  General !  His  daughter's  arrival  seemed  to  comfort  him. 
But  he  says,  '  Not  my  wife  !  not  my  wife  ! '  And  the  poor 
thing  has  to  go  away  and  cry  in  the  chamber  at  the  side.  He 
says — in  his  French,  you  know — he  has  never  been  well  since 
Charlotte  went  away.  He  has  often  been  out.  He  has  dined 
but  rarely  at  our  table,  and  there  has  always  been  a  silence  be- 
tween him  and  Madame  la  Generale.  Last  week  he  had  a 
great  inflammation  of  the  chest.  Then  he  took  to  bed,  and 
Monsieur  the  Docteur  came — the  little  doctor  whom  you  know. 
Then  a  quinsy  has  declared  itself,  and  he  now  is  scarce  able  to 
speak.  His  condition  is  most  grave.  He  lies  suffering,  dying, 
]ierhaps — yes,  dying,  do  you  hear?  And  you  are  thinking  of 
your  little  school-girl  !  Men  are  all  the  same.  Monsters ! 
Go  !  " 

Philip,  who,  I  .have  said,  is  very  fond  of  talking  about 
Philip,  surveys  his  own  faults  with  great  magnanimity  and  good- 
humor,  and  acknowledges  them  without  the  least  intention  to 
correct  them.  "  How  selfish  we  are  !  "  I  can  hear  him  say, 
looking  at  himself  in  the  glass.  "  By  George  !  sir,  when  I 
heard  simultaneously  the  news  of  that  poor  old  man's  illness, 
and  of  Charlotte's  return,  I  felt  that  I  wanted  to  see  her  that 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  469 

instant.  I  must  go  to  her,  and  speak  to  lier.  The  old  man 
and  his  suffering  did  not  seem  to  affect  me.  It  is  humiUating 
to  have  to  own  that  we  are  selfish  beasts.     But  we   are,  sir — 

we  are  brutes,  by  George  !  and  nothing  else." And  he  gives 

a  finishing  twist  to  the  ends  of  his  flaming  mustaches  as  he 
surveys  them  in  the  glass. 

Poor  little  Charlotte  was  in  such  affliction  that  of  course  she 
must  have  Philip  to  console  her  at  once.  No  time  was  to  be  lost. 
Quick  !  a  cab  this  moment :  and,  coachman,  you  shall  have  an  ex- 
tra for  drink  if  you  go  quick  to  the  Avenue  de  Valmy  !  Madame 
puts  herself  into  the  carriage,  and  as  they  go  along,  tells  Philip 
more  at  length  of  the  gloomy  occurrences  of  the  last  few  days. 
Four  days  since  the  poor  General  was  so  bad  with  his  quinsy 
that  he  thought  he  should  not  recover,  and  Charlotte  was  sent 
for.  He  was  a  little  better  on  the  day  of  her  arrival ;  but 
yesterday  the  inflammation  had  increased  ;  he  could  not  swal- 
low ;  he  could  not  speak  audibly ;  he  was  in  very  great  suffer-  _ 
ing  and  danger.  He  turned  away  from  his  wife.  The  un- 
happy Generaless  had  been  to  Madame  Bunch  in  her  tears  and 
grief,complaining  that  after  twenty  years'  fidelity  and  attachment 
her  husband  had  withdrawn  his  regard  from  her.  Baynes  at- 
tributed even  his  illness  to  his  wife ;  and  at  other  times  said  it 
was  a  just  punishment  for  his  wicked  conduct  in  breaking  his 
word  to  Philip  and  Charlotte.  If  he  did  not  see  his  dear  child 
again  he  must  beg  her  forgiveness  for  having  made  her  suffer 
so.  He  had  acted  wickedly  and  ungratefully,  and  his  wife  had 
forced  him  to  do  what  he  did.  He  prayed  that  heaven  might 
pardon  him.  And  he  had  behaved  with  wicked  injustice  to- 
wards Philip,  who  had  acted  most  generously  towards  his 
family.  And  he  had  been  a  scoundrel — he  knew  he  had — and 
Bunch,  and  MacWhirter,  and  the  Doctor  all  said  so — and  it 
was  that  woman's  doing.  And  he  pointed  to  the  scared  wife 
as  he  painfully  hissed  out  these  words  of  anger  and  contrition  : 
■ — "  When  I  saw  that  child  ill,  and  almost  made  mad,  because 
I  broke  my  word,  I  felt  I  was  a  scoundrel,  Martin ;  and  I  was  ; 
and  that  woman  made  me  so ;  and  I  deserve  to  be  shot ;  and  I 
sha'n't  recover ;  I  tell  you  I  sha'n't."  Dr.  Martin,  who  attended 
the  General,  thus  described  his  patient's  last  talk  and  behavior 
to  Philip. 

It  Vv'as  the  doctor  who  sent  madame  in  quest  of  the  young 
man.  He  found  poor  Mrs.  Baynes  with  hot,  tearless  eyes  and 
livid  face,  a  wretched  sentinel  outside  the  sick-chamber.  "  You 
will  find  General  Baynes  very  ill,  sir, "  she  said  to  Philip  with 
a  ghastly  calmness,  and  a  gaze  he  could  scarely  face.     "  My 


47 o  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  riJILTP 

daughter  is  in  the  room  with  him.  It  appears  I  have  offended 
him,  and  he  refuses  to  see  me.  "  And  she  squeezed  a  dry 
handkerchief  whicli  she  held,  and  put  on  her  spectacles  again, 
and  tried  again  to  read  the  Bible  in  her  lap. 

PhiliiD  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of  Mrs.  Baynes'  words  as 
yet.  He  was  agitated  by  the  thought  of  the  General's  illness, 
perhaps  by  the  notion  that  the  beloved  was  so  near.  Her  hand 
was  in  his  a  moment  afterwards ;  and,  even  in  that  sad  cham- 
ber, each  could  give  the  other  a  soft  pressure,  a  fond,  silent 
signal  of  mutual  love  and  faith. 

The  poor  man  laid  the  hands  of  the  young  people  together, 
and  his  own  upon  them.  The  suffering  to  which  he  had  put 
his  daughter  seemed  to  be  the  crime  which  specially  affected 
him.  He  thanked  heaven  he  was  able  to  see  he  was  wrong. 
He  whispered  to  his  little  maid  a  prayer  for  pardon  in  one  or 
two  words,  which  caused  poor  Charlotte  to  sink  on  her  knees 
_  and  cover  his  fevered  hand  with  tears  and  kisses.  Out  of  all 
her  heart  she  forgave  him.  She  had  felt  that  the  parent  she 
loved  and  was  accustomed  to  honor  had  been  mercenary  and 
cruel.  It  had  wounded  her  pure  heart  to  be  obliged  to  think 
that  her  father  could  be  other  than  generous,  and  just,  and 
good.  That  he  should  humble  himself  before  her,  smote  her 
with  the  keenest  pang  of  tender  commiseration.  I  do  not  care 
to  pursue  this  last  scene.  Let  us  close  the  door  as  the  children 
kneel  by  the  sufferer's  bedside,  and  to  the  old  man's  petition  for 
forgiveness,  and  to  the  young  girl's  sobbing  vows  of  love  and 
fondness,  say  a  reverent  Amen. 

By  the  following  letter,  which  he  wrote  a  few  days  before 
the  fatal  termination  of  his  illness,  the  worthy  General,  it  would 
appear,  had  already  despaired  of  his  recovery  : — "  My  dear 
Mac, — I  speak  and  breathe  with  such  difficulty  as  I  write  this 
from  my  bed,  that  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  leave  it.  I  do 
not  wish  to  vex  poor  Eliza,  and  in  my  state  cannot  entet-  i?ito 
disputes  which  I  know  would  ensue  regarding  settlement  of  prop- 
erty. When  I  left  England  there  was  a  claim  hanging  over 
me  (young  Firmin's)  at  which  I  was  needlessly  frightened,  as 
having  to  satisfy  it  would  swallow  up  muck  more  than  everyt/iing 
I  possessed  in  the  world.  Hence  made  arrangements  for  leaving 
everything  in  Eliza's  name  and  the  children  after.  Will  with 
Smith  and  Thompson,  Raymond  Buildings,  Gray's  Inn.  Think 
Char  won^f  be  happy  for  a  long  time  tvith  her  mother.  To  break 
from  F.,  who  has  been  most  generous  to  us,  will  break  her 
heart.  Will  you  and  l^riily  keep  her  for  a  little  ?  I  gave  F. 
my  promise.     As  you  told  me,  I  have  acted  ill  by  him,  which  I 


OiV  HIS  IVA  V  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


471 


Own  and  deeply  lament.  If  Char  marries,  she  ought  to  have  her 
share.  May  God  bless  her,  her  father  prays,  in  case  he  should 
not  see  her  again.  And  with  best  love  to  Emily,  am  yours, 
dear  Mac,  sincerely, — Charles  Baynes." 

On  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  Charlotte  disobeyed  her 
father's  wish,  and  set  forth  from  Tours  instantly,  under  her 
worthy  uncle's  guardianship.  The  old  soldier  was  in  his  com- 
rade's room  when  the  General  put  the  hands  of  Charlotte  and 
her  lover  together.  He  confessed  his  fault,  though  it  is  hard 
for  those  who  expect  love  and  reverence  to  have  to  own  to 
wrong  and  to  ask  pardon.  Old  knees  are  stiff  to  bend  :  brother 
reader,  young  or  old,  when  our  last  hour  comes,  may  ours  have 
grace  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

RETURNS    TO    OLD    FRIENDS. 


The  three  old  comrades  and  Philip  formed  the  little  mourn- 
ing procession  which  followed  the  General  to  his  place  of  rest 
at  Montmartre.  When  the  service  has  been  read,  and  the  last 
volley  has  been  fired  over  the  buried  soldier,  the  troops  march 
to  quarters  with  a  quick  step,  and  to  a  lively  tune.  Our  veteran 
has  been  laid  in  the  grave  with  brief  ceremonies.  \\'e  do  not 
even  prolong  his  obsequies  with  a  sermon.  His  place  knows 
him  no  longer.  There  are  a  few  who  remember  him  :  a  very, 
very  few  who  grieve  for  him — so  few  that  to  think  of  them  is  a 
humiliation  almost.  The  sun  sets  on  the  earth,  and  our  dear 
brother  has  departed  off  its  face.  Stars  twinkle  ;  dews  fall ; 
children  go  to  sleep  in  awe  and  maybe  tears  ;  the  sun  rises  on 
a  new  day,  which  he  has  never  seen,  and  children  wake  hungry. 
They  are  interested  about  their  new  black  clothes,  perhaps. 
They  are  presently  at  their  work,  plays,  quarrels.  They  are 
looking  forward  to  the  day  when  the  holidays  will  be  over,  and 
the  eyes  which  shone  here  yesterday  so  kindly  are  gone,  gone 
gone.  A  drive  to  the  cemetery,  followed  by  a  coach  with  four 
acquaintances  dressed  in  decorous  black,  who  separate  and  go 
to  their  homes  or  clubs,  and  wear  your  crape  for  a  few  days 
after — can  most  of  us  expect  much  more  ?  The  thought  is  not 
ennobling  or  exhilarating,  worthy  sir.      And,  pray,  why  should 


472 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


we  be  proud  of  ourselves  ?  Is  it  because  we  have  been  so 
good,  or  are  so  wise  and  great,  that  we  expect  to  be  beloved, 
lamented,  remembered?  Why,  great  Xerxes  or  blustering 
Bobadil  must  know  in  that  last  hour  and  resting-place  how 
abject,  how  small,  how  low,  how  lonely  they  are,  and  what 
a  little  dust  will  cover  them.  Quick,  drums  and  fifes,  a  lively 
tune  !  Whip  the  black  team,  coachman,  and  trot  back  to  town 
again — to  the  world,  and  to  business,  and  duty ! 

I  am  for  saying  no  single  unkindness  of  General  Baynes 
which  is  not  forced  upon  me  by  my  story-teller's  ofifice.  \\'e 
know  from  Marlborough's  story  that  the  bravest  man  and 
greatest  military  genius  is  not  always  brave  or  successful  in  his 
battles  with  his  wife  ;  that  some  of  the  greatest  warriors  have 
committed  errors  in  accounts  and  the  distribution  of  mcmn 
and  tiium.  We  can't  disguise  from  ourselves  the  fact  that 
Baynes  permitted  himself  to  be  misled,  and  had  weaknesses  not 
quite  consistent  with  the  highest  virtue. 

When  he  became  aware  that  his  carelessness  in  the  matter 
of  Mrs.  Firmiil's  trust-money  had  placed  him  in  her  son's 
power,  we  have  seen  how  the  old  General,  in  order  to  avoid 
being  called  to  account,  fled  across  the  water  with  his  family 
and  all  his  little  fortune,  and  how  terrified  he  was  on  landing 
on  a  foreign  shore  to  find  himself  face  to  face  with  this  dread- 
ful creditor.  Philip's  renunciation  of  all  claims  against  Baynes 
soothed  and  pleased  the  old  man  wonderfully.  But  Philip 
might  change  his  mind,  an  adviser  at  Baynes'  side  repeatedly 
urged.  To  live  abroad  was  cheaper  and  safer  than  to  live  at 
home.  Accordingly  Baynes,  his  wife,  family,  and  money,  all 
went  into  exile,  and  remained  there. 

What  savings  the  old  man  had  I  don't  accurately  know. 
He  and  his  wife  were  very  dark  upon  this  subject  with  Philip  : 
and  when  the  General  died,  his  widow  declared  herself  to  be 
almost  a  pauper !  It  was  impossible  that  Baynes  should  have 
left  much  money ;  but  that  Charlotte's  share  should  have 
amounted  to — that  sum  which  may  or  may  not  presently  be 
stated — was  a  little  too  absurd  !  You  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Firm  in 
are  travelling  abroad  just  now.  W'hen  I  wrote  to  Firmin,  to 
ask  if  I  might  mention  the  amount  of  his  wife's  fortune,  he  gave 
me  no  answer;  nor  do  I  like  to  enter  upon  these  matters  of 
calculation  without  his  explicit  permission.  He  is  of  a 
hot  temper ;  he  might,  on  his  return,  grow  angry  with  the  friend 
of  his  youth,  and  say,  "  Sir,  how  dare  you  talk  about  my  private 
affairs  ?  and  what  has  the  public  to  do  with  Mrs.  Finnin's  pri- 
vate fortune  ? " 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  473 

When,  the  last  rites  over,  good-natured  uncle  Mac  proposed 
to  take  Charlotte  back  to  Tours  her  mother  made  no  objection. 
The  widow  had  tried  to  do  the  girl  such  an  injury,  that  perhaps 
the  latter  felt  that  forgiveness  was  impossible.  Little  Char 
loved  Philip  with  all  her  heart  and  strength  ;  had  been  author- 
ized and  encouraged  to  do  so,  as  we  have  seen.  To  give  him 
up  now,  because  a  richer  suitor  presented  himself,  was  an  act 
of  treason  from  which  her  faithful  heart  revolted,  and  she  never 
could  pardon  the  instigator.  You  see,  in  this  simple  story,  I 
scarcely  care  even  to  have  reticence  or  secrets.  I  don't  want 
you  to  understand  for  a  moment  that  Walsingham  Hely  was 
still  crying  his  eyes  out  about  Charlotte.  Goodness  bless  you  ! 
It  was  two  or  three  weeks  ago — four  or  five  weeks  ago,  that  he 
was  in  love  with  her  I  He  had  not  seen  the  Duchesse  d"Ivry 
then,  about  whom  you  may  remember  he  had  the  quarrel  with 
Podichon,  at  the  club  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont.  (He  and  the 
Duchesse  wrote  poems  to  each  other,  each  in  the  other's  native 
language.)  The  Charlotte  had  long  passed  out  of  the  young 
fellow's  mind.  That  butterfly  had  fluttered  off  from  our  English 
rosebud,  and  had  settled  on  the  other  elderly  flower  !  I  don't 
know  that  Mrs.  Baynes  was  aware  of  young  Hely's  fickleness 
at  this  present  time  of  which  we  are  writing  ;  but  his  visits  had 
ceased,  and  she  was  angry  and  disappointed  ;  and  not  the  less 
angry  because  her  labor  had  been  in  vain.  On  her  part, 
Charlotte  could  also  be  resolutely  unforgiving.  Take  her  Philip 
from  her  !  Never,  never !  Her  mother  force  her  to  give  up 
the  man  whom  she  had  been  encouraged  to  love  ?  Mamma 
should  have  defended  Philip,  not  betrayed  him  !  If  I  command 
my  son  to  steal  a  spoon,  shall  he  obey  me  ?  And  if  he  do  obey 
and  steal,  and  be  transported,  will  he  love  me  afterwards  ?  I 
think  I  can  hardly  ask  for  so  much  filial  affection. 

So  there  was  strife  between  mother  and  daughter ;  and 
anger  not  the  less  bitter,  on  Mrs.  Baynes's  part,  because  her 
husband,  whose  cupidity  or  fear  had,  at  first,  induced  him  to 
take  her  side,  had  deserted  her  and  gone  over  to  her  daugh- 
ter. In  the  anger  of  that  controversy  Baynes  died,  leaving  the 
victory  and  right  with  Charlotte.  He  shrank  from  his  wife : 
would  not  speak  to  her  in  his  last  moments.  The  widow  had 
these  injuries  against  her  daughter  and  Philip  :  and  thus  neither 
side  forgave  the  other.  She  was  not  averse  to  the  child's  going 
away  to  her  uncle  :  put  a  lean,  hungry  face  against  Charlotte's 
lip,  and  received  a  kiss  which  I  fear  had  but  little  love  in  it.  I 
don't  envy  those  children  who  remain  under  the  widow's  lonely 
command  ;  or  poor  Madam   Smolensk,  who  has  to  endure  the 


474  ^^^^  ADVENTC/RES  OF  PHILIP 

arrogance,  the  grief,  the  avarice  of  that  grim  woman.  Nor  did 
madame  suffer  under  this  tyranny  long.  Galignani  s  Messenger 
very  soon  announced  that  she  had  lodgings  to  let,  and  1  re- 
member being  edified  by  reading  one  day  in  the  Pail  Mail 
Gazette  that  elegant  apartments,  select  society,  and  an  excellent 
table  were  to  be  found  in  one  of  the  most  airy  and  fashionable 

quarters  of  Paris.     Inquire  of  Madame  la  Baronne  de  S sk, 

Avenue  de  Valmy,  Champs  Elyse'es. 

We  guessed  without  difficulty  how  this  advertisement  found 
its  way  to  the  Fail  Mali  Gazette;  and  very  soon  after  its 
appearance  Madame  de  Smolensk's  friend,  Mr.  Philip,  made 
his  appearance  at  our  tea-table  in  London,  He  was  always 
welcome  amongst  us  elders  and  children.  He  wore  a  crape  on 
his  hat.  As  soon  as  the  young  ones  were  gone,  you  may  be 
sure  he  poured  his  story  out ;  and  enlarged  upon  the  death,  the 
burial,  the  quarrels,  the  loves,  the  partings  we  have  narrated. 
How  could  he  be  put  in  a  way  to  earn  three  or  four  hundred  a 
year  ?  That  was  the  present  question.  Ere  he  came  to  see  us, 
he  had  already  been  totting  up  ways  and  means.  He  had  been 
with  our  friend  Mrs.  Brandon  :  was  staying  with  her.  The  Little 
Sister  thought  three  hundred  would  be  sufficient.  They  could 
have  her  second  floor — not  for  nothing  ;  no,  no,  but  at  a  moderate 
price,  which  would  pay  her.  They  could  have  attics,  if  more 
rooms  were  needed.  They  could  have  her  kitchen  fire,  and  one 
maid,  for  the  present,  would  do  all  their  work.  Poor  little 
thing  !  She  was  very  young.  She  would  be  past  eighteen  by 
the  time  she  could  marry ;  the  Little  Sister  was  for  early 
marriages,  against  long  courtships.  "  Heaven  helps  those  as 
helps  themselves,"  she  said.  And  Mr.  Philip  thought  this 
excellent  advice,  and  Mr.  Philip's  friend,  when  asked  for  /lis 
opinion — "  Candidly  now,  what's  your  opinion  ?  " — said,  "  Is 
she  in  the  next  room  ?  Of  course  you  mean  you  are  married 
already." 

Philip  roared  one  of  his  great  laughs.  No,  he  was  not 
married  already.  Had  he  not  said  that  Miss  Baynes  was  gone 
away  to  Tours  to  her  aunt  and  uncle  ?  But  that  he  wanted  to 
be  married  ;  but  that  he  could  never  settle  down  to  work  till 
he  married  ;  but  that  he  could  have  no  rest,  peace,  health  till  he 
married  that  angel,  he  was  ready  to  confess.  Ready  ?  All  the 
street  might  hear  him  calling  out  the  name  and  expatiating  on 
the  angelic  charms  and  goodness  of  his  Charlotte.  He  spoke 
so  loud  and  long  on  this  subject  that  my  wife  grew  a  little 
tired  ;  and  my  wife  ai7oays  likes  to  hear  other  women  praised, 
that  (she  says)  I  know  she  does.     But  when  a  man  goes  on 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  475 

roaring  for  an  hour  about  Dulcinea  ?  You  know  such  talk  be- 
comes fulsome  at  last ;  and,  in  fine,  when  he  was  gone,  my  wife 
said,  "  Well,  he  is  very  much  in  love  ;  so  were  you — I  mean 
long  before  my  time,  sir  ;  but  does  love  pay  the  housekeeping 
bills,  pray  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear.  And  love  is  always  controlled  by  other 
people's  advice  : — always,"  says  Philip's  friend ;  who,  I  hope, 
you  will  perceive  was  speaking  ironically. 

Philip's  friends  had  listened  not  impatiently  to  Philip's  talk 
about  Philip.  Almost  all  women  will  give  a  sympathizing 
hearing  to  men  who  are  in  love.  Be  they  ever  so  old,  they 
grow  young  again  with  that  conversation,  and  renew  their  own 
early  times.  Men  are  not  quite  so  generous  :  Tityrus  tires  of 
hearing  Corydon  discourse  endlessly  on  the  charms  of  his  shep- 
herdess. And  yet  egotism  is  good  talk.  Even  dull  autobio- 
graphies are  pleasant  to  read  :  and  if  to  read,  why  not  to  hear? 
Had  Master  Philip  not  been  such  an  egotist,  he  would  not  have 
been  so  pleasant  a  companion.  Can't  you  like  a  man  at  whom 
you  laugh  a  little  ?  I  had  rather  such  an  open-mouthed  con- 
versationist than  your  cautious  jaws  that  never  unlock  without 
a  careful  application  of  the  key.  As  for  the  entrance  to  Mr. 
Philip's  mind,  that  door  was  always  open  when  he  was  awake, 
or  not  hungry,  or  in  a  friend's  company.  Besides  his  love,  and 
his  prospects  in  life,  his  poverty,  &c.,  Philip  had  other  favorite 
topics  of  conversation.  His  friend  the  Little  Sister  was  a  great 
theme  with  him  ;  his  father  was  another  favorite  subject  of  his 
talk.  By  the  way,  his  father  had  written  to  the  Little  Sister. 
The  doctor  said  he  was  sure  to  prosper  in  his  newly  adopted 
country.  He  and  another  physician  had  invented  a  new  medi- 
cine, which  was  to  effect  wonders,  and  in  a  few  years  would 
assuredly  make  the  fortune  of  both  of  them.  He  was  never 
without  one  scheme  or  another  for  making  that  fortune  which 
never  came.  Whenever  he  drew  upon  poor  Philip  for  little 
sums,  his  letters  were  sure  to  be  especially  magniloquent  and 
hopeful.  "Whenever  the  doctor  says  he  has  invented  the 
philosopher's  stone,"  said  poor  Philip,  "  I  am  sure  there  will 
be  a  postscript  to  say  that  a  little  bill  will  be  presented  for  so 
much,  at  so  many  days'  date." 

Had  he  drawn  on  Philip  lately?  Philip  told  us  when,  and 
how  often.  We  gave  him  all  the  benefit  of  our  virtuous  indig- 
nation. As  for  my  wife's  eyes,  they  gleamed  with  anger.  What 
a  man  :  what  a  father  !  Oh,  he  was  incorrigible  !  "  Yes,  I  am 
afraid  he  is,"  says  poor  Phil,  comically,  with  his  hands  roaming 
at  ease  in  his  pockets.     They  contained  little  else  than  those 


476  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

big  hands.  "  My  father  is  of  a  hopeful  turn.  His  views  re- 
garding property  are  peculiar.  It  is  a  comfort  to  have  such  a 
distinguished  parent,  isn't  it  ?  I  am  always  surprised  to  hear 
that  he  is  not  married  again.  I  sigh  for  a  mother-in-law," 
Philip  continued. 

"  Oh,  do7i't,  Philip  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Laura,  in  a  pet.  "  Be  gen- 
erous :  be  forgiving  :  be  noble  :  be  Christian  !  Don't  be  cyni- 
cal, and  imitating — you  know  whom  !  " 

Whom  could  she  possibly  mean,  I  wonder  ?  After  flashes, 
there  came  showers  in  this  lady's  eyes.  From  long  habit  I  can 
understand  her  thoughts,  although  she  does  not  utter  them. 
She  was  thinking  of  those  poor,  noble,  simple,  friendless  young 
people  ;  and  asking  heaven's  protection  for  them.  I  am  not  in 
the  habit  of  over-praising  my  friends,  goodness  knows.  The 
foibles  of  this  one  I  have  described  honestly  enough.  But  if  I 
write  down  here  that  he  was  courageous,  cheerful  in  adversity, 
generous,  simple,  truth-loving,  above  a  scheme — after  having 
said  that  he  was  a  noble  young  fellow — dixi ;  and  I  won't  can- 
cel the  words. 

Ardent  lover  as  he  was,  our  friend  was  glad  to  be  back  in 
the  midst  of  the  London  smoke,  and  wealth,  and  bustle.  The 
fog  agreed  with  his  lungs,  he  said.  He  breathed  more  freely 
in  our  great  City  than  in  that  little  English  village  in  the  centre 
of  Paris  which  he  had  been  inhabiting.  In  his  hotel,  and  at 
his  cafe  (where  he  comjDosed  his  eloquent  "  own  correspond- 
ence "),  he  had  occasion  to  speak  a  little  French,  but  it  never 
came  very  trippingly  from  his  stout  English  tongue.  "  You 
don't  suppose  I  would  like  to  be  taken  for  a  Frenchman,"  he 
would  say,  with  much  gravity.  I  wonder  who  ever  thought  of 
mistaking  friend  Philip  for  a  Frenchman  ? 

As  for  that  faithful  Little  Sister,  her  house  and  heart  were 
still  at  the  young  man's  service.  We  have  not  visited  Thorn- 
haugh  Street  for  some  time.  Mr.  Philip,  whom  we  have  been 
bound  to  attend,  has  been  too  much  occupied  with  his  love-mak- 
ing to  bestow  much  thought  on  his  affectionate  little  friend. 
She  has  been  trudging  meanwhile  on  her  humble  course  of  life, 
cheerful,  modest,  laborious,  doing  her  duty,  with  a  helping  little 
hand  ready  to  relieve  many  a  fallen  wayfarer  on  her  road.  She 
had  a  room  vacant  in  her  house  when  Philip  came  : — a  room, 
indeed  !  Would  she  not  have  had  a  house  vacant,  if  Philip 
wanted  it  ?  But  in  the  interval  since  we  saw  her  last,  the  Lit- 
tle Sister,  too,  has  had  to  assume  black  robes.  Her  father,  the 
old  Captain,  has  gone  to  his  rest.  His  place  is  vacant  in  the 
little  parlor  :  his  bedroom  is  ready  lor  Philip,  as  long  as  Philip 


OiV  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  477 

will  stay.  She  did  not  profess  to  feel  much  affliction  for  the 
loss  of  the  captain.  She  talked  of  him  constantly  as  though  he 
were  present ;  and  made  a  supper  for  Philip,  and  seated  him 
in  her  Pa's  chair.  How  she  bustled  about  on  the  night  when 
Philip  arrived  !  What  a  beaming  welcome  there  was  in  her 
kind  eyes  !  Her  modest  hair  was  touched  with  silver  now ; 
but  her  cheeks  were  like  apples  ;  her  little  figure  was  nent,  and 
light,  and  active  :  and  her  voice,  with  its  gentle  laugh,  and  little 
sweet  bad  grammar,  has  always  seemed  one  of  the  sweetest  of 
voices  to  me. 

Very  soon  after  Philip's  arrival  in  London,  Mrs.  Brandon 
paid  a  visit  to  the  wife  of  Mr.  Firmin's  humble  servant  and 
biographer,  and  the  two  women  had  a  fine  sentimentaf  consul- 
tation. All  good  women,  you  know,  are  sentimental.  The 
idea  of  young  lovers,  of  match-making,  of  amiable  poverty, 
tenderly  excites  and  interests  them.  My  wife,  at  this  time, 
began  to  pour  off  fine  long  letters  to  Miss  Paynes,  to  which  the 
latter  modestly  and  dutifully  replied,  with  many  expressions  of 
fervor  and  gratitude  for  the  interest  which  her  friend  in  London 
was  pleased  to  take  in  the  little  maid.  I  saw  by  these  answers 
that  Charlotte's  union  with  Philip  was  taken  as  a  received  point 
by  these  two  ladies.  They  discussed  the  ways  and  means. 
They  did  not  talk  about  broughams,  settlements,  town  and 
country  houses,  pin-moneys,  trousseaux  :  and  my  wife,  in  com- 
puting their  sources  of  income,  always  pointed  out  that  Miss 
Charlotte's  fortune,  though  certainly  small,  would  give  a  very- 
useful  addition  to  the  young  couple's  income.  "  Fifty  pounds 
a  year  not  much  !  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  fifty  pounds  a  year 
is  a  very  pretty  little  sum  :  if  Philip  can  but  make  three  hundred 
a  year  himself,  Mrs.  Brandon  says  they  ought  to  be  able  to  live 
quite  nicely."  You  ask,  my  genteel  friend,  is  it  possible  that 
people  can  live  for  four  hundred  a  year  ?  How  do  they  manage, 
ces pauv res  gens  1  They  eat,  they  drink,  they  are  clothed,  they 
are  warmed,  they  have  roofs  over  their  heads,  and  glass  in  their 
windows  ;  and  some  of  them  are  as  good,  happy,  and  well-bred 
as  their  neighbors  who  are  ten  times  as  rich.  Then,  besides 
this  calculation  of  money,  there  is  the  fond  woman's  firm  belief 
that  the  day  will  bring  its  daily  bread  for  those  who  work  for  it 
and  ask  for  it  in  the  proper  quarter  \  against  which  reasoning 
many  a  man  knows  it  is  in  vain  to  argue.  As  to  my  own  little 
objections  and  doubts,  my  wife  met  them  by  reference  to  Philip's 
former  love-affair  with  his  cousin,  Miss  Twysden.  "  You  had 
no  objection  in  that  case,  sir,"  this  logician  would  say.  "  You 
would  have  had  him  take  a  creature  without  a  heart.      You 


47S 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


would  cliccrfully  liave  seen  him  made  miserable  for  life,  because 
you  thought  there  was  money  enough  and  a  genteel  connection. 
Money  indeed  !  Very  happy  Mrs.  Woolcomb  is  with  her  money. 
Very  creditably  to  all  sides  has  that  marriage  turned  out ! "  I 
need  scarcely  remind  my  readers  of  the  unfortunate  result  of 
that  marriage.  Woolcomb's  behavior  to  his  wife  was  the 
agreeable  talk  of  London  society  and  of  the  London  clubs  very 
soon  after  the  pair  were  joined  together  in  holy  matrimony. 
Do  we  not  all  remember  how  Woolcomb  was  accused  of  striking 
his  wife,  of  starving  his  wife,  and  how  she  took  refuge  at  home 
and  came  to  her  father's  house  with  a  black  eye  ?  The  two 
Twysdens  were  so  ashamed  of  this  transaction,  that  father  and 
son  left*  off  coming  to  "  Bays's,"  where  I  never  heard  their 
absence  regretted  but  by  one  man,  who  said  that  Talbot  owed 
him  money  for  losses  at  whist  for  which  he  could  get  no 
settlement. 

Should  Mr.  Firmin  go  and  see  his  aunt  in  her  misfortune  ? 
By-gones  might  be  by-gones,  some  of  Philip's  advisers  thought. 
Now,  Mrs.  Twysden  was  unhapjDy,  her  heart  might  relent  to 
Philip,  whom  she  certainly  had  loved  as  a  boy.  Philip  had  the 
magnanimity  to  call  upon  her  ;  and  found  her  carriage  waiting 
at  the  door.  But  a  servant,  after  keeping  the  gentleman  wait- 
ing in  the  dreary,  well-remembered  hall,  brought  him  word  that 
his  mistress  was  out,  smiled  in  his  face  with  an  engaging 
insolence,  and  proceeded  to  put  cloaks,  court-guides,  and  other 
female  gear  into  the  carriage  in  the  presence  of  this  poor 
deserted  nephew.  This  visit  it  must  be  owned  was  one  of  Mrs. 
Laura's  romantic  efiforts  at  reconciling  enemies  :  as  if,  my  good 
creature,  the  Twysdens  ever  let  a  man  into  their  house  who  was 
poor  or  out  of  fashion !  They  lived  in  a  constant  dread  lest 
Philip  should  call  to  borrow  money  of  them.  As  if  they  ever 
lent  money  to  a  man  who  was  in  need  !  If  they  ask  the  respected 
reader  to  their  house,  depend  upon  it  they  think  he  is  well  to 
do.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Twysdens  made  a  very  handsome 
entertainment  for  the  new  Lord  of  Whipham  and  Ringwood 
who  now  reigned  after  his  kinsman's  death.  They  affably  went 
and  passed  Christmas  with  him  in  the  country ;  and  they 
cringed  and  bowed  before  Sir  John  Ringwood  as  they  had 
bowed  and  cringed  before  the  earl  in  his  time.  The  old  earl 
had  been  a  Tory  in  his  latter  days,  when  Talbot  Twysden's 
views  were  also  very  conservative.  The  present  Lord  of  Ring- 
wood  was  a  Whig.  It  is  surprising  how  liberal  the  Twysdens 
grew  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight's  after-dinner  conversation 
and    pheasant-shooting   talk   at   Ringwood.     "  Plang   it !   you 


aV  HIS  WA  Y  THRO  UGH  THE   WORLD.  479 

know,  young  Twysden  said,  in  his  office  afterwards,  "  a  fellow 
must  go  with  tlie  politics  of  his  family,  you  know  !  "  and  he 
bragged  about  the  dinners,  wines,  splendors,  cooks,  and  pre- 
serves of  Ringwood  as  freely  as  in  the  time  of  his  noble  grand- 
uncle.  Anyone  who  has  kept  a  house-dog  in  London,  which 
licks  your  boots  and  your  platter,  and  fawns  for  the  bones  in 
your  dish,  knows  how  the  animal  barks  and  flies  at  the  poor 
who  come  to  the  door.  The  Twysdens,  father  and  son,  were 
of  this  canine  species  :  and  there  are  vast  packs  of  such  dogs 
here  and  elsewhere. 

If  Philip  opened  his  heart  to  us,  and  talked  unreservedly 
regarding  his  hopes  and  his  plans,  you  may  be  sure  he  had  his 
little  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon,  also  in  his  confidence,  and  that  no 
person  in  the  world  was  more  eager  to  serve  him.  Whilst  we 
were  talking  about  what  was  to  be  done,  this  little  lady  was  also 
at  work  in  lier  favorite's  behalf.  She  had  a  firm  ally  in  Mrs. 
Mugford,  the  proprietor's  lady  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  Mrs. 
Mugford  had  long  been  interested  in  Philip,  his  misfortunes 
and  his  love  aftairs.  These  two  good  women  had  made  a  senti- 
mental hero  of  him.  Ah  !  that  they  could  devise  some  feasible 
scheme  to  help  him  !  And  such  a  chance  actually  did  very  soon 
present  itself  to  these  delighted  women. 

In  almost  all  the  papers  of  the  new  year  appeared  a  brilliant 
advertisement,  announcing  the  speedy  appearance  in  Dublin  of 
a  new  paper.  It  was  to  be  called  The  Shamrock,  and  its  first 
number  was  to  be  issued  on  the  ensuing  St.  Patrick's  day.  I 
need  not  quote  at  length  the  advertisement  which  heralded  the 
advent  of  this  new  periodical.  The  most  famous  pens  of  the 
national  party  in  Ireland  were,  of  course,  engaged  to  contribute 
to  its  columns.  Those  pens  would  be  hammered  into  steel  of 
a  different  shape  when  the  opportunity  should  offer.  Beloved 
prelates,  authors  of  world-wide  fame,  bards,  the  bold  strings  of 
whose  lyres  had  nmg  through  the  isle  already,  and  made 
millions  of  noble  hearts  to  beat,  and,  by  consequence,  double 
the  number  of  eyes  to  fill  ;  philosophers,  renowned  for  science  j 
and  illustrious  advocates,  whose  manly  voices  had  ever  spoken 
the  language  of  hope  and  freedom  to  an  &c.,  (Sec,  would  be 
found  rallying  round  the  journal,  and  proud  to  wear  the  symbol 
of  The  Shamrock.  Finally,  Michael  Cassidy,  Esq.,  was  chosen 
to  be  the  editor  of  this  new  journal. 

This  was  the  M.  Cassidy,  Esq.,  who  appeared,  I  think,  at 
Mr,  Firmin's  call-supper  ;  and  who  had  long  been  the  sub-editor 
of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  If  Michael  went  to  Dame  Street,  why 
should  not  Philip  be  sub-editor  at  Pall  Mall  ?  Mrs.  Brandou 


4So  THE  ADVEiYTURES  OF  PHILIP 

argued.  Of  course  there  would  be  a  score  of  candidates  fof 
Michael  s  office.  The  editor  would  like  the  patronage.  Barnet, 
Mugford's  partner  in  the  Gazette,  would  wish  to  appoint  his 
man.  Cassidy,  before  retiring,  would  assuredly  intimate  his 
approaching  resignation  to  scores  of  gentlemen  of  his  nation, 
who  would  not  object  to  take  the  Saxon's  pay  until  they  finally 
shook  his  yoke  off,  and  w^ould  eat  his  bread  until  the  happy 
moment  arrived  wheri  they  could  knock  out  his  brains  in  fair 
battle.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  ]5randon  heard  of  the  vacant  place, 
that  moment  she  determined  that  Philip  should  have  it.  It  was 
surprising  what  a  quantity  of  information  our  little  friend  pos- 
sessed about  artists,  and  pressmen,  and  their  lives,  families, 
ways  and  means.  Many  gentlemen  of  both  professions  came 
to  Mr.  Ridley's  chambers,  and  called  on  the  Little  Sister  on 
their  way  to  and  fro.  How  Tom  Smith  had  left  the  Herald, 
and  gone  to  the  Post ;  what  price  Jack  Jones  had  for  his 
picture,  and  who  sat  for  the  principal  figures. — I  promise  you 
Madam  Brandon  had  all  these  interesting  details  by  heart ;  and 
I  think  I  have  described  this  little  person  very  inadequately  if 
I  have  not  made  you  understand  that  she  w-as  as  intrepid  a  little 
jobber  as  ever  lived,  and  never  scrupled  to  go  any  length  to 
serve  a  friend.  To  be  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  to  be  pro- 
fessor of  Hebrew,  to  be  teacher  of  a  dancing-school,  to  be 
organist  for  a  church :  for  any  conceivable  place  of  function 
this  little  person  would  have  asserted  Philip's  capabilit}^ 
"  Don't  tell  me  !  He  can  dance  or  preach  (as  the  case  may 
be),  or  write  beautiful  !  And  as  for  being  unfit  to  be  a  sub- 
editor, I  want  to  know,  has  he  not  as  good  a  head  and  as  good 
an  education  as  that  Cassidy,  indeed  "i  And  is  not  Cambridge 
College  the  best  college  in  the  world  ?  It  is,  I  say.  And  he 
went  there  ever  so  long.  And  he  might  have  taken  the  very 
best  prize,  only  money  was  no  object  to  him  then,  dear  fellow, 
and  he  did  not  like  to  keep  the  poor  out  of  what  he  didn't 
want !  " 

Mrs.  Mugford  had  always  considered  the  young  man  as  very 
haugiity,  but  quite  the  gentleman,  and  speedily  was  infected  by 
her  gossip's  enthusiasm  about  him.  My  wife  hired  a  fly,  packed 
several  of  the  children  into  it,  called  upon  Mrs.  Mugford,  and 
chose  to  be  delighted  with  that  lady's  garden,  with  that  lady's 
nursery — with  everything  that  bore  the  name  of  Mugford.  It 
was  a  curiosity  to  remark  in  what  a  flurry  of  excitement  these 
women  plunged,  and  how  they  schemed,  and  coaxed,  and 
caballed,  in  order  to  get  this  place  for  their  protege.  My  wife 
tijpiight— she  merely  happened  to   surmise :  nothing  more,  of 


01^  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  481 

course — that  Mrs.  Mugford's  fond  desire  was  to  shine  in  the 
world.  "  Could  we  not  ask  some  people — with — with  what  you 
call  handles  to  their  names, — I  think  I  before  heard  you  use 
some  such  term,  sir, — to  meet  the  Mugfords  ?  Some  of  Philip's 
old  friends,  who  I  am  sure  would  be  very  happy  to  serve  him." 
Some  such  artifice  was,  1  own,  practised.  We  coaxed,  cajoled, 
fondled  the  Mugfords  for  Philip's  sake,  and  heaven  forgive 
Mrs.  Laura  her  hypocrisy.  We  had  an  entertainment  then,  I 
own.  We  asked  our  finest  company,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford  to  meet  them  :  and  we  prayed  that  unlucky  Philip  to  be  on 
his  best  behavior  to  all  persons  who  were  invited  to  the  feast. 

Before  my  wife  this  lion  of  a  Firmin  was  as  a  lamb.  Rough, 
captious,  and  overbearing  in  general  society,  with  those  whom 
he  loved  and  esteemed  Philip  was  of  all  men  the  most  modest 
and  humble.  He  would  never  tire  of  playing  with  our  children, 
joining  in  their  games,  laughing  and  roaring  at  their  little  sports. 
I  have  never  had  such  a  laugher  at  my  jokes  as  Philip  Firmin. 
I  think  my  wife  liked  him  for  that  noble  guffaw  with  which  he 
used  to  salute  those  pieces  of  wit.  He  arrived  a  little  late 
sometimes  with  his  laughing  chorus,  but  ten  people  at  table 
were  not  so  loud  as  this  faithful  friend.  On  the  contrary,  when 
those  pci  pie  for  whom  he  has  no  liking  venture  on  a  pun  or 
other  pleasantry,  I  am  Ijound  to  own  that  Philip's  acknowledg- 
ment of  their  waggery  must  be  anything  but  pleasant  or  flat- 
tering to  them.  Now,  on  occasion  of  this  important  din-  er,  I 
enjoined  him  to  be  very  kind,  and  very  civil,  and  very  much 
pleased  with  everybody,  and  to  stamp  upon  nobody's  corns,  as, 
indeed,  why  should  he,  in  life  ?  Who  was  he  to  be  censor  morum  ? 
And  it  has  been  said  that  no  man  could  admit  his  own  faults 
with  a  more  engaging  candor  than  our  friend. 

We  invited,  then,  Mugford,  the  proprietor  of  the  Fall  Mall 
Gazette,  and  his  wife  ;  and  Bickerton,  the  editor  of  that  period- 
ical ;  Lord  Egham,  IMiilip's  old  college  friend  ;  and  one  or  two 
more  gentlemen.  Our  invitations  to  the  ladies  were  not  so 
fortunate.  Some  were  engaged,  others  away  in  the  country 
keeping  Christmas.  In  fine,  we  considered  oursehes  rather 
lucky  in  securing  old  Lady  Hixie,  who  lives  hard  by  in  West- 
minster, and  who  will  pass  for  a  lady  of  fashion  when  no  person 
of  greater  note  is  present.  My  wife  told  her  that  the  object  of 
the  dinner  was  to  make  our  friend  Firmin  acquainted  with  the 
editor  and  proprietor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  with  whom  it 
was  important  that  he  should  be  on  the  most  amicable  footing. 
Oh  !  very  well.  Lady  Hixie  promised  to  be  quite  gracious  to 
the  newspaper  gentleman   and  his  wife  ;  and  kept  her  promise 

31 


482  THE  A  D I  -ENTURES  OF  PHILFP 

most  graciously  during  the  evening.      Our  good  friend  Mrs. 
Mugford  was  the  first  of  our  guests  to  arrive.     She  drove  "  in 
her  trap"  from  her  villa  in  the  suburbs;  and  after  putting  up 
his  carriage  at  a  neighboring  li\ery-stable,  her  groom  volun- 
teered to  help  our  servants  in  waiting  at  dinner.     His  zeal  and 
activity  were    remarkable.      China  smashed,    and   dish-covers 
clanged  in  the  ]Dassage.     Mrs.  Mugford  said  that  "  Sam  was  at 
his  old  tricks  ; "  and  I  hope  the  hostess  showed  she  was  mis- 
tress of  herself  amidst  that  fall  of  china.     Mrs.  Mugford  came 
before  the  appointed  hour,  she  said,  in  order  to  see  our  chil- 
dren.    "  With   our  late  London   dinner  hours,"  she  remarked, 
"  children  was  never  seen  now."     At  Hampstead,  hers  always 
appeared  at  the   dessert,  and   enlivened  the  table  with  their 
innocent  outcries  for  oranges  and  struggles  for  sweetmeats.    In 
the  nursery,  where  one  little  maid,  in  her  crisp  long  night-gown, 
was  saying  her  prayers  ;  where  another  little  person,  in  the  most 
airy  costume,  was  standing  before  the  great  barred  fire  ;  where 
a  third  Lilliputian  was  sitting  up  in  its  nightcap  and  surplice, 
surveying  the  scene  below  from  its   crib  ;  the  ladies  found  our 
dear  Little  Sister  installed.     She  had  come  to  see  her  little  pets 
(she  had  known  tw-o  or  three  of  them  from   the  very  earliest 
times).     She   w^as    a  great  favorite   amongst  them  all ;  and,  I 
believe,  conspired  with  the  cook  down  below  in  preparing   cer- 
tain delicacies  for  the  table.     A  fine  conversation  then  ensued 
about  our  children,  about  the  Mugford  children,  about  babies 
in  general.     And  then  the  artful  women  (the  house  mistress  and 
the  Little   Sister)  brought  Philip  on  the  tapis,  and  discoursed, 
a  qui  viicux,  about  his  virtues,  his  misfortunes,  his  engagement, 
and  that  dear  little  creature  to  whom  he  was  betrothed.     This 
conversation  went  on  until  carriage-wheels  were  heard  in  the 
square,  and  the  knocker  (there  were  actually  knockers  in  that 
old-fashioned  place   and  time)  began   to  peal.     "  Oh,  bother  1 
There's    the    company  a-comin',"    Mrs.    Mugford    said ;    and 
arranging  her  cap  and  llounces,  with  neat-handed  Mrs.  Bran- 
don's aid,  came  down  stairs,  after  taking  a  tender  leave  of  the 
little  people,  to  whom  she   sent  a  present  next  day  of  a  pile  of 
fine  Christmas  books,  which  had  come  to  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette 
for  review.     The  kind  woman  had  been  coaxed,  wheedled,  and 
won  over  to  our  side,  to  Pliilip's  side.     He  had  her  vote  for  the 
sub-editorship,  whatever  might  ensue. 

Most  of  our  guests  had  already  arrived,  when  at  length  Mrs. 
Mugford  was  announced.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  she  presented 
a  remarkable  appearance,  and  that  the  splendor  of  her  attire 
was  such  as  is  seldom  beheld. 


OM  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  483 

Bickerton  and  Philip  were  presented  to  one  anothei,  and 
had  a  talk  about  French  politics  before  dinner,  during  which 
conversation  Philip  behaved  with  perfect  discretion  and  polite- 
ness. Bickerton  had  happened  to  hear  Philip's  letters  well 
spoken  of — in  a  good  quarter,  mind  ;  and  his  cordiality  in- 
creased when  Lord  Eghani  entered,  called  Philip  by  his  sur- 
name, and  entered  into  a  perfectly  free  conversation  with  him. 
Old  Lady  Hixie  went  into  perfectly  good  society,  Bickerton 
condescended  to  acknowledge.  "  As  for  Mrs.  Mugford,"  says 
he,  with  a  glance  of  wondering  compassion  at  that  lady,  "  of 
course,  1  need  not  tell  you  that  she  is  seen  nowhere — nowhere." 
This  said,  Mr.  Bickerton  stepped  forward,  and  calmly  patron- 
ized my  wife,  gave  me  a  good-natured  nod  for  my  own  part, 
reminded  Lord  Egham  that  he  had  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
him  at  Egham  ;  and  then  fixed  on  Tom  Page,  of  the  Bread-and- 
Butter  OfBce  (who,  I  own,  is  one  of  our  most  genteel  guests), 
with  whom  he  entered  into  a  discussion  of  some  political  matter 
of  that  day — I  forget  what :  but  the  main  point  was  that  he 
named  two  or  three  leading  public  men  with  whom  he  had  dis- 
cussed the  question,  whatever  it  might  be.  He  named  very 
great  names,  and  led  us  to  understand  that  with  the  proprietors 
of  those  very  great  names  he  was  on  the  most  intimate  and 
confidential  footing.  With  his  owners — with  the  proprietor  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette^  he  was  on  the  most  distant  terms,  and 
indeed  I  am  afraid  that  his  behavior  to  myself  and  my  wife  was 
scarcely  respectful.  I  fancied  I  saw  Philip's  brow  gathering 
wrinkles  as  his  eye  followed  this  man  strutting  from  one  person 
to  another,  and  patronizing  each.  The  dinner  was  a  little 
late,  from  some  reason  best  known  in  the  lower  regions.  "  I 
take  it,"  says  Bickerton,  winking  at  Philip,  in  a  pause  of  the 
conversation,  "  that  our  good  friend  and  host  is  not  much  used 
to  giving  dinners.  The  mistress  of  the  house  is  evidently  in  a 
state  of  perturbation."  Philip  gave  such  a  horrible  grimace 
that  the  other  at  first  thought  he  was  in  pain. 

'•  You,  who  have  lived  a  great  deal  with  old  Ringwood, 
know  what  a  good  dinner  is,"  Bickerton  continued,  giving 
Firmin  a  knowing  look, 

"  Any  dinner  is  good  which  is  accompanied  with  such  a 
welcome  as  I  get  here,"  said  Philip. 

"  Oh  !  very  good  people,  very  good  people,  of  course  !  " 
cries  Bickerton. 

T  need  not  say  he  thinks  he  has  perfectly  succeeded  in 
adopting  the  air  of  a  man  of  the  world.  He  went  off  to  Lady 
]  lixio  and  talked  with  her  about  the  last  great  party  at  which  he 


484  ^-^^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

had  met  her  ;  and  then  he  turned  to  the  host,  and  remarked 
that  my  friend,  the  doctor's  son,  was  a  fierce  looking  fellow.  In 
five  minutes  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  make  himself  hated  by 
Mr.  Firmin.  He  walks  through  the  world  patronizing  his 
betters.  "  Our  good  friend  is  not  much  used  to  giving  din- 
ners,"— isn't  he  ?  I  say,  what  do  you  mean  by  continuing  to 
endure  this  man  }  Tom  Page,  of  the  Bread-and-Butter  office, 
is  a  well-known  diner-out ;  Lord  Egham  is  a  peer  ;  Bickerton, 
in  a  pretty  loud  voice,  talked  to  one  or  other  of  these  during 
dinner  and  across  the  table.  He  sat  next  to  Mrs.  Mugford,  but 
he  turned  his  back  on  that  bewildered  woman,  and  never  con- 
descended to  address  a  word  to  her  personally.  "  Of  course,  I 
understand  you,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said  to  me  when,  on  the 
retreat  of  the  ladies,  we  approached  within  whispering  dis- 
tance. "  You  have  these  people  at  dinner  for  reasons  of  state. 
You  have  a  book  coming  out,  and  want  to  have  it  noticed  in 
the  paper.  I  make  a  point  of  keeping  these  people  at  a  dis- 
tance— the  only  way  of  dealing  with  them,  I  give  you  my  word." 

Not  one  offensive  word  had  Philip  said  to  the  chief  writer 
of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  and  I  began,  to  congratulate  myself 
that  our  dinner  would  pass  without  any  mishap,  when  some  one 
unluckily  happening  to  praise  the  wine,  a  fresh  supply  was 
ordered.  "  Very  good  claret.  Who  is  your  wine  merchant  ? 
Upon  my  word,  I  get  better  claret  here  than  I  do  in  Paris — 
don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Fermor  ?  Where  do  you  generally  dine 
at  Paris  >  " 

"  I  generally  dine  for  thirty  sous,  and  three  francs  on  grand 
days,  Mr.  Beckerton,"  growls  Philip. 

"My  name  is  Bickerton."  ("What  a  vulgar  thing  for  a 
fellow  to  talk  about  his  thirty-sous  dinners  !  "  murmured  my 
neighbor  to  me.)  "  Well,  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes  ! 
When  I  go  to  Paris,  1  dine  at  the  'Trois  Freres.'  Give  me  the 
Burgundy  at  the  '  Trois  Freres.'  " 

"  That  is  because  you  great  leader-writers  are  paid  better 
than  poor  correspondents.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  be  able  to 
dine  better."  And  with  this  Mr.  Firmin  smiles  at  Mr.  Mugford, 
his  master  and  owner. 

"  Nothing  so  vulgar  as  talking  shop,"  says  Bickerton,  rather 
loud. 

"  I  am  not  ashamcJ.  ci  ilic  shop  I  keep.  Are  you  of  yours 
Mr.  Bickerton  .-'  "  growls  IMiilip. 

"  F.  had  iiim  there,"  says  Mr.  Mugford. 

Mr.  Bickerton  got  up  from  table,  turning  quite  pale.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  be  offensive,  sir?  "  he  asked. 


ON  ins  WAV  TimouGJi  rr/E  world. 


485 


•'  Offensive,  sir?  No,  sir.  Some  men  are  offensive  without 
meaning  it.  You  have  been  several  times  to-night  !  "  says  Lord 
Philip. 

"  I  don't  see  that  I  am  called  upon  to  bear  this  kind  of 
thing  at  any  man's  table  !  "  cried  Mr.  Bickerton.  "  Lord 
Egham,  I  wish  you  good-night !  " 

"  I  say,  old  boy,  what's  the  row  about  ?  "  asked  his  lordship. 
And  we  were  all  astonished  as  my  guest  rose  and  left  the  table 
in  great  wrath. 

"  Serve  him  right,  Firmin,  I  say  !  "  said  Mr.  Mugford,  again 
drinking  off  a  glass. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  says  Tom  Page.  "His  father 
keeps  a  haberdasher's  shop  at  Cambridge,  and  sent  him  to 
Oxford,  where  he  took  a  good  degree.'' 

And  this  had  come  of  a  dinner  of  conciliation — a  dinner 
which  was  to  advance  Philip's  interest  in  life ! 

"  Hit  him  again,  I  say,"  cried  Mugford,  whom  wine  had 
rendered  eloquent.  "  He's  a  supercilious  beast,  that  Bickerton 
is,  and  I  hate  him,  and  so  does  Mrs.  M." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

NARRATES   THAT    FAMOUS   JOKE   ABOUT   MISS   GRIGSBY. 

For  once  Philip  found  that  he  had  offended  without  giving 
general  offence.  In  the  confidence  of  female  intercourse,  Mrs. 
Mugford  had  already,  in  her  own  artless  but  powerful  language, 
confirmed  her  husband's  statement  regarding  Mr.  Bickerton, 
and  declared  that  B.  was  a  beast,  and  she  was  only  sorry  that 
Mr.  F.  had  not  hit  him  a  little  harder.  So  different  are  the 
opinions  which  different  individuals  entertain  of  the  same 
event !  I  happen  to  know  that  Bickerton,  on  his  side,  went 
away,  averring  that  we  were  quarrelsome,  under-bred  people  ; 
and  that  a  man  of  any  refinement  had  best  avoid  that  kind  of 
society.  He  does  really  and  seriously  believe  himself  our 
superior,  and  will  lecture  almost  any  gentleman  on  the  art  of 
being  one.  This  assurance  is  not  at  all  uncommon  with  your 
parvenu.  Proud  of  his  newly  acquired  knowledge  of  the  art  of 
exhausting  the  contents  of  an  ^gg,  the  well-known  little  boy  of 
the  apologue  rushed  to  impart  his  knowledge   to  his  grand- 


486  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

mother,  who  had  been  for  many  years  famihar  with  the  process 
which  the  child  liad  just  discovered.  Which  of  us  has  not  met 
with  some  such  instructors  ?  I  know  men  wiio  would  be  ready 
to  step  forward  and  teach  Taglioni  how  to  dance,  Tom  Sayers 
how  to  box,  or  the  Chevalier  Bayard  how  to  be  a  gentleman. 
We  most  of  us  know  such  men,  and  undergo,  from  time  to 
time,  the  ineffable  benefit  of  their  patronage. 

Mugford  went  away  from  our  little  entertainment  vowing, 
by  George,  that  Philip  shouldn't  want  for  a  friend  at  the  proper 
season ;  and  this  proper  season  very  speedily  arrived.  I 
laughed  one  day,  on  going  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  office,  to 
find  Philip  installed  in  the  sub-editor's  room,  with  a  provision 
of  scissors,  wafers,  and  paste-pots,  snipping  paragraphs  from 
this  paper  and  that,  altering,  condensing,  gi\ing  titles,  and  so 
forth ;  and,  in  a  word,  in  regular  harness.  The  three-headed 
calves,  the  great  prize  gooseberries,  the  old  maiden  ladies  of 
wonderful  ages  who  at  length  died  in  country  places — it  was 
wonderful  (considering  his  little  experience)  how  Firmin  hunted 
out  these.  He  entered  into  all  the  spirit  of  his  business.  He 
prided  himself  on  the  clever  titles  which  he  found  for  his  para- 
graphs. When  his  paper  was  completed  at  the  week's  end, 
he  surveyed  it  fondly — not  the  leading  articles,  or  those  pro- 
found and  yet  brilliant  literary  essays  which  appeared  in  the 
Gazette — but  the  births,deaths,  marriages,  markets,  trials  and 
what  not.  As  a  shop-boy,  having  decorated  his  master's  win- 
dow, goes  into  the  street,  and  pleased  surveys  his  work ;  so 
the  fair  face  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  rejoiced  Mr  Firmin,  and 
Mr.  Bince,  the  printer  of  the  paper.  They  looked  with  an 
honest  pride  upon  the  result  of  their  joint  labors.  Nor  did 
Firmin  relish  pleasantry  on  the  subject.  Did  his  friends  allude 
to  it,  and  ask  if  he  had  shot  any  especially  fine  cafianl  that 
week  ?  Mr.  Philip's  brow  would  corrugate  and  his  cheeks  red- 
den. He  did  not  like  jokes  to  be  made  at  his  expense :  was 
not  his  a  singular  antipathy  ? 

In  his  capacity  of  sub-editor,  the  good  fellow  had  the  privi- 
lege of  taking  and  giving  away  countless  theatre  orders,  and 
panorama  and  diorama  tickets  .  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  was  not 
above  accepting  such  little  bribes  in  those  days,  and  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford's  familiarity  with  the  names  of  opera  singers,  and  splendid 
appearance  in  an  opera-box,  was  quite  remarkable.  Friend 
Philip  would  bear  away  a  heap  of  these  cards  of  admission, 
delighted  to  carry  off  our  young  folks  to  one  exhibition  or  an- 
other. But  once  at  the  diorama,  where  our  young  people  sat 
in  the  darkness,  very  much  frightened  as  usual,  a  voice  from 


ON  //IS  IVA  V  THROUO//  T///-:  WOK/.D.  487 

out  the  niidniglit  i^jlooin  cried  out :  "  IV/io  lias  come  hi  7oit/i  orders 
from  t/w  Pall  Ma/ 1  Gazc/fe'l  "  A  lady,  two  scared  children,  and 
Mr.  Sub-editor  Philip,  all  trembled  at  this  dreadful  summons. 
I  think  I  should  not  dare  to  print  the  story  even  now,  did  I 
not  know  that  Mr.  Firmin  was  travelling  abroad.  It  was  a 
blessing  the  place  was  dark,  so  that  none  could  see  the  poor 
sub-editor's  blushes.  Rather  than  cause  any  mortification  to 
this  lady,  I  am  sure  Philip  would  have  submitted  to  rack  and 
torture.  But,  indeed,  her  annoyance  was  very  slight,  except  in 
seeing  her  friend  annoyed.  The  humor  of  the  scene  surpassed 
the  anno\ance  in  the  lady's  mind,  and  caused  her  to  laugh  at 
the  mishap  ;  but  I  own  our  little  boy  (who  is  of  an  aristocratic 
turn,  and  rather  too  sensitive  to  ridicule  from  his  schoolfellows) 
was  not  at  all  anxious  to  talk  upon  the  subject,  or  to  let  the 
world  know  that  he  went  to  a  place  of  public  amusement  "  with 
an  order." 

As  for  Philip's  landlady,  the  Little  Sister,  she,  you  know, 
had  been  familiar  with  the  press,  and  pressmen,  and  orders  for 
the  play  for  years  past.  She  looked  quite  young  and  pretty, 
with  her  kind  smiling  face  and  neat  tight  black  dress,  as  she 
came  to  the  theatre — it  was  to  an  Easter  piece — on  Philip's 
arm,  one  evening.  Our  children  saw  her  from  their  cab,  as 
they,  too,  were  driving  to  the  same  performance.  It  was, 
"  Look,  mamma  !  There's  Philip  and  the  Little  Sister  !  "_  And 
then  came  such  smiles,  and  nods,  and  delighted  recognitions 
from  the  cab  to  the  two  friends  on  foot  !  Of  course  I  have 
forgotten  what  was  the  piece  which  we  all  saw  on  that  Easter 
evening.  But  those  children  will  never  forget  ;  no,  though 
they  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old,  and  though  their  attention 
was  distracted  from  the  piece  by  constant  observation  of  Philip 
and  his  companion  in  the  public  boxes  opposite. 

Mr.  Firmin's  work  and  pay  were  both  light,  and  he  accepted 
both  very  cheerfully.  He  saved  money  out  of  his  little  stipend. 
It  was  surprising  how  economically  he  could  live  with  his  little 
landlady's  aid  and  counsel.  He  would  come  to  us,  recounting 
his  feats  of  parsimony  with  a  childish  delight :  he  loved  to  con- 
template his  sovereigns,  as  week  by  week  the  little  pile  accu- 
mulated. He  kept  a  sharp  eye  upon  sales,  and  purchased  now 
and  again  articles  of  furniture.  In  this  way  he  brought  home  a 
piano  to  his  lodgings,  on  which  he  could  no  more  play  than  he 
could  on  the  tight-rope  ;  but  he  was  given  to  understand  that 
it  was  a  very  fine  instrument ;  and  my  wife  played  on  it  one 
day  when  we  went  to  visit  him,  and  he  sat  listening,  with  his 
great  hands  on  his  knees,  in  ecstasies.     He  was  thinking  how 


488  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rilTUP 

one  day,  please  heaven,  he  should  see  other  hands  touching 
the  keys — and  player  and  instrument  disappeared  in  a  mist 
before  his  happy  eyes.  His  purchases  were  not  all  ahvays 
lucky.  For  example,  he  was  sadly  taken  in  at  an  auction  about 
a  little  pearl  ornament.  Some  artful  Hebrews  at  the  sale  con- 
spired and  "  ran  him  up,"  as  the  phrase  is,  to  a  price  more 
than  equal  to  the  value  of  the  trinket.  "  But  you  know  who 
it  was  for,  ma'am,"  one  of  Philip's  apologists  said.  "  If  she 
would  like  to  wear  his  ten  fingers  he  would  cut  'em  off  and 
send  'em  to  her.  But  he  keeps  'em  to  write  her  letters  and 
verses — and  most  beautiful  they  are,  too." 

"  And  the  dear  fellow,  who  was  bred  up  in  splendor  and 
luxury,  Mrs.  Mugford,  as  you,  ma'am,  know  too  well — he  won't 
drink  no  wine  now.  A  little  whiskey  and  a  glass  of  beer  is  all 
he  takes.  And  his  clothes — he  who  used  to  be  so  grand — 
you  see  how  he  is  now,  ma'am.  Always  the  gentleman,  and, 
indeed,  a  finer  or  grander  looking  gentleman  never  entered  a 
room  ;  but  he  is  saving — you  know  for  what,  ma'am.'' 

And,  indeed,  Mrs.  Mugford  did  know  ;  and  so  did  Mrs. 
Pendennis  and  Mrs.  Brandon.  And  these  three  women  worked 
themselves  into  a  perfect  fever,  interesting  themselves  for  Mr. 
Firmin.  And  Mugford,  in  his  rough,  funny  way,  used  to  say, 
"  Mr.  P.,  a  certain  Mr.  Heff  has  come  and  put  our  noses  out 
of  joint.  He  has,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Hem.  And  I  am 
getting  quite  jealous  of  our  sub-editor,  and  that  is  the  long 
and  short  of  it.  But  it's  good  to  see  him  haw-haw  Bickerton 
if  ever  they  meet  in  the  office,  that  it  is  !  Bickerton  won't 
bully  hi7ii  any  more,  I  promise  you  !  " 

The  conclaves  and  conspiracies  of  these  women  were  endless 
in  Philip's  behalf.  One  day,  J  let  the  Little  Sister  out  of  my 
house  with  a  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  in  a  great  state  of 
flurry  and  excitement,  which  perhaps  communicates  itself  to 
the  gentleman  who  passes  her  at  his  own  door.  The  gentle- 
man's wafe  is,  on  her  part,  not  a  little  moved  and  excited. 
"What  do  you  think  Mrs.  Brandon  says?  Philip  is  learning 
shorthand.  He  says  he  does  not  think  he  is  clever  enough  to 
be  a  writer  of  any  mark; — but  he  can  be  a  reporter,  and  with 
this,  and  his  place  at  Mr.  Mugford's,  he  thinks  he  can  earn 

enough  to Oh,  he  is  a  fine  fellow  !  "     I  suppose  feminine 

emotion  stopped  the  completion  of  this  speech.  But  when 
Mr.  Philip  slouched  into  dinner  that  day,  his  hostess  did  hom- 
age before  him  ;  she  loved  him  :  she  treated  him  with  a  tender 
respect  and  sympathy  which  her  like  are  ever  wont  to  bestow 
upon  brave  and  honest  men  in  misfortune. 


Oy  HfS  IVA  V  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  489 

Why  should  not  Mr.  Philip  Firmin,  barrister-at-law,  bethink 
him  that  he  belonged  to  a  profession  which  has  helped  very  many 
men  to  competence,  and  not  a  few  to  wealth  and  honors  ?  A 
barrister  might  surely  hope  for  as  good  earnings  as  could  be 
made  by  a  newspaper  reporter.  We  all  know  instances  of  men 
who,  having  commenced  their  careers  as  writers  for  the  press, 
had  carried  on  the  legal  profession  simultaneously,  and  attained 
the  greatest  honors  of  the  bar  and  the  bench.  "  Can  I  sit  in 
a  Pump  Court  garret  waiting  for  attorneys  .-*  "  asked  poor  Phil  ; 
*'  I  shall  break  my  heart  before  they  come.  My  brains  are  not 
worth  much :  I  should  addle  them  altogether  in  poring  over 
law  books.  I  am  not  at  all  a  clever  fellow  you  see  ;  and  I 
haven't  the  ambition  and  obstinate  will  to  succeed  which  carry 
on  many  a  man  with  no  greater  capacity  than  my  own.  I  may 
have  as  good  brains  as  Bickerton,  for  example  :  but  I  am  not 
so  bumptious  as  he  is.  By  claiming  the  first  place  wherever  he 
goes,  he  gets  it  very  often.  My  dear  friends,  don't  you  see 
how  modest  I  am  ?  There  never  was  a  man  less  likely  to  get 
on  than  myself — you  must  own  that  ;  and  I  tell  you  that  Char- 
lotte and  I  must  look  forward  to  a  life  of  poverty,  of  cheese- 
parings, and  second  floor  lodgings  at  Pentonville  or  Islington. 
That's  about  my  mark.  I  would  let  her  ofT,  only  I  know  she 
would  not  take  me  at  my  word — the  dear  little  thing  !  She  has 
set  her  heart  upon  a  hulking  pauper :  that's  the  truth.  And  I 
tell  you  what  I  am  going  to  do.  I  am  going  seriously  to  learn 
the  profession  of  poverty,  and  make  myself  master  of  it. 
What's  the  price  of  co wheel  and  tripe  .?  You  don't  know.  I 
do  ;  and  the  right  place  to  buy  'em.  I  am  as  good  a  judge  of 
sprats  as  any  man  in  London.  My  tap  in  life  is  to  be  small 
beer  henceforth,  and  I  am  growing  quite  to  like  it,  and  think 
it  is  brisk,  and  pleasant,  and  wholesome."  There  was  not  a 
little  truth  in  Philip's  account  of  himself,  and  his  capacities  and 
incapacities.  Doubtless,  he  was  not  born  to  make  a  great  name 
for  himself  in  the  world.  But  do  we  like  those  only  who  are 
famous  ?  As  well  say  we  will  only  give  our  regard  to  men  who 
have  ten  thousand  a  year,  or  are  more  than  six  feet  high. 

While  of  his  three  female  friends  and  advisers,  my  wife  ad- 
mired Philip's  humility,  Mrs.  Brandon  and  Mrs.  Mugford  were 
rather  disappointed  at  his  want  of  spirit,  and  to  think  that  he 
aimed  so  low.  I  shall  not  say  which  side  Firmin's  biographer 
took  in  this  matter.  Was  it  my  business  to  applaud  or  rebuke 
him  for  being  humble-minded,  or  was  I  called  upon  to  advise 
at  all  ?  My  amiable  reader,  acknowledge  that  you  and  I  in 
life  pretty  much  go  our  own  way.     We  eat  the  dishes  we  like  be- 


490  THE  ADIENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

cause  we  like  them,  not  because  our  neiglibor  relishes  them.  We 
rise  early,  or  sit  up  late  ;  ue  work,  idle,  smoke,  or  what  not,  be- 
cause we  choose  so  to  do,  not  because  tlie  doctor  orders.  Philip, 
then,  was  like  you  and  me,  who  will  have  our  own  way  when  we 
can.  Will  we  not  t  If  you  won't,  you  do  not  deserve  it.  Instead 
of  hungering  after  a  stalled  ox,  he  was  accustoming  himself  to 
be  content  with  a  dinner  of  herbs.  Instead  of  braving  the  tem- 
pest, he  chose  to  take  in  sail,  creep  along  shore,  and  wait  for 
calmer  weather. 

So,  on  Tuesday  of  every  week  let  us  say,  it  was  this  modest 
sub-editor's  duty  to  begin  snipping  and  pasting  paragraphs  for 
the  ensuing  Saturday's  issue.  He  cut  down  the  parliamentary 
speeches,  giving  due  favoritism  to  the  orators  of  the  Pall  Mall 
(7<72;6'//^party,  and  meagre  outlines  of  their  opponent's  discourses. 
If  the  leading  public  men  on  the  side  of  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette 
gave  entertainments,  you  may  be  sure  they  were  duly  chroni- 
cled in  the  fashionable  intelligence  ;  if  one  of  their  party  wrote 
a  book  it  was  pretty  sure  to  get  praise  from  the  critic.  I  am 
.speaking  of  simple  old  days,  you  understand.  Of  course  there 
is  710  puffing,  or  jobbing,  or  false  praise,  or  unfair  censure  now. 
P^very  critic  knows  what  he  is  writing  about,  and  writes  with  no 
aim  but  to  tell  truth. 

Thus  Philip,  the  dandy  of  two  years  back,  was  content  to 
wear  the  shabbiest  old  coat ;  Philip,  the  Philippus  of  one-and- 
twenty,  who  rode  showy  horses,  and  rejoiced  to  display  his 
horse  and  jDerson  in  the  park,  now  humbly  took  his  place  in  an 
omnibus,  and  only  on  occasions  indulged  in  a  cab.  PVom  the 
roof  of  the  larger  vehicle  he  would  salute  his  friends  with  per- 
fect affability,  and  stare  down  on  his  aunt  as  she  passed  in  her 
barouche.  He  ne\'er  could  be  quite  made  to  acknowledge  that 
she  purposely  w^ould  not  see  him  ;  or  he  would  attribute  her 
blindness  to  the  quarrel  which  they  had  had,  not  to  his  poverty 
and  present  position.  As  for  his  cousin  Ringwood,  "That 
fellow  would  commit  any  baseness,"  Philip  acknowledged; 
"  and  it  is  I  who  have  cut  him''  our  friend  averred. 

A  real  danger  was  lest  our  friend  should  in  his  poverty  be- 
come more  haughty  and  insolent  than  he  had  been  in  his  days 
of  better  fortune,  and  that  he  should  make  companions  of  men 
who  were  not  his  equals.  Whether  was  it  better  for  him  to  be 
slighted  in  a  fashionable  club,  or  to  swagger  at  the  head  of  the 
company  in  a  tavern  parlor }  This  was  the  danger  we  might 
fear  for  Firmin.  It  was  impossible  not  to  confess  that  he  was 
choosing  to  take  a  lower  place  in  the  world  than  that  to  which 
he  had  been  born. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


491 


"  Do  you  mean  that  I'liilip  is  lowered,  because  he  is  poor?" 
asked  an  angry  lady,  to  whom  this  remark  was  made  by  her 
husband — man  and  wife  being  both  very  good  friends  to  Mr. 
Firmin, 

"My  dear,"  replies  the  worldling  of  a  husband,  "suppose 
Philip  were  to  take  a  fancy  to  buy  a  donkey  and  sell  cabbages  ? 
He  would  be  doing  no  harm  ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  he  would 
lower  himself  in  the  world's  estimation." 

"  Lower  himself !  "  says  the  lady,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 
"  No  man  lowers  himself  by  pursuing  an  honest  calling.  No 
man!" 

"  Very  good.  There  is  Grundsell,  the  greengrocer,  out  of 
Tuthill  Street,  who  waits  at  our  dinners.  Instead  of  asking 
him  to  wait,  we  should  beg  him  to  sit  down  at  table  ;  or  perhaps 
we  should  wait,  and  stand  with  a  napkin  behind  Grundsell." 

"  Nonsense  ! " 

"  Grundsell's  calling  is  strictly  honest,  unless  he  abuses  his 

opportunities,  and  smuggles  away " 

-smuggles  away  stuff  and  nonsense  1 " 


"Very  good  ;  Grundsell  is  not  a  fitting  companion,  then,  for 
us,  or  the  nine  little  Grundsells  for  our  children.  Then  why 
should  Philip  give  up  the  friends  of  his  youth,  and  forsake  a 
club  for  a  tavern  parlor?  You  can't  say  our  little  friend,  Mrs. 
Brandon,  good  as  she  is,  is  a  fitting  companion  for  him  ?  " 

"If  he  had  a  good  little  wife,  he  would  have  a  companion 
of  his  own  degree  ;  and  he  would  be  twice  as  happy  ;  and  he 
would  be  out  of  all  danger  and  temptation — and  the  best  thing 
he  can  do  is  to  marry  directly  !  "  cries  the  lady.  "  And,  my 
dear,  I  think  I  shall  write  to  Charlotte  and  ask  her  to  come  and 
stay  with  us." 

There  was  no  withstanding  this  argument.  As  long  as 
Charlotte  was  with  us  we  were  sure  that  Philip  would  be  out  of 
harm's  way,  and  seek  for  no  other  company.  There  was  a  snu» 
little  bedroom  close  by  the  quarters  inhabited  by  our  own  chil- 
dren. My  wife  pleased  herself  by  adorning  this  chamber,  and 
uncle  Mac  happening  to  come  to  London  on  business  about 
this  time,  the  young  lady  came  over  to  us  under  his  convoy,  and 
I  should  like  to  describe  the  meeting  between  her  and  Mr. 
Philip  in  our  parlor.  No  doubt  it  was  very  edifying.  But  my 
wife  and  I  were  not  present,  vous  con^evez.  W' e  only  heard  one 
shout  of  surprise  and  delight  from  Philip  as  he  went  into  the 
room  where  the  young  lady  was  waiting.  We  had  but  said, 
"  Go  into  the  parlor,  Philip.  You  will  find  your  old  friend 
Major  Mac  there.     He  has  come  to  London  on  business,  and 


492 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  J>I//L/P 


has  news  of "     There  was  no  need  to  speak,  for  here  PhiUp 

straightway  bounced  into  the  room. 

And  then  came  the  shout.  And  then  out  came  Major  Mac, 
with  such  a  droll  twinkle  in  his  eyes  !  What  artifices  and  hypoc- 
risies had  we  not  to  practice  previously,  so  as  to  keep  our  secret 
from  our  children,  who  assuredly  would  have  discovered  it ! 
I  must  tell  you  that  the  paterfamilias  had  guarded  against  the 
innocent  prattle  and  inquiries  of  the  children  regarding  the 
preparation  of  the  little  bedroom,  by  informing  them  that  it  was 
intended  for  Miss  Grigsby  the  governess,  with  whose  advent 
they  had  long  been  threatened.  And  one  of  our  girls,  when 
the  unconscious  Philip  arrived,  said,  "  Philip,  if  you  go  into  the 
parlor,  you  will  find  Miss  Grigsby,  the  governess,  there^  And 
then  Philip  entered  into  that  parlor,  and  then  arose  that  shout, 
and  then  out  came  uncle  Mac,  and  then,  &c.,  &c.  And  we 
called  Charlotte  Miss  Grigsby  all  dinner-time ;  and  we  called 
her  Miss  Grigsby  next  day  ;  and  the  more  we  called  her  Miss 
Grigsby  the  more  we  all  laughed.  And  the  baby,  who  could 
not  speak  plain  yet,  called  her  Miss  Gibby.  and  laughed  loudest 
of  all ;  and  it  was  such  fun.  But  I  think  Philip  and  Charlotte 
had  the  best  of  the  fun,  my  dears,  though  they  may  not  have 
laughed  quite  so  loud  as  we  did. 

As  for  Mrs.  Brandon,  who,  you  may  be  sure,  speedily  came 
to  pay  us  a  visit,  Charlotte  blushed,  and  looked  quite  beautiful 
when  she  went  up  and  kissed  the  Little  Sister.  "  He  have  told 
you  about  me,  then  !  "  she  said,  in  her  soft  little  voice,  smooth- 
ing the  young  lady's  brown  hair.  "  Should  I  have  known  him 
at  all  but  for  you,  and  did  you  not  save  his  life  for  me  when  he  was 
ill }  "  asked  Miss  Baynes.  "  And  mayn't  I  love  everybody  who 
loves  him  ?  "  she  asked.  And  we  left  these  women  alone  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  they  became  the  most  intimate 
friends  in  the  world.  And  all  our  household,  great  and  small, 
including  the  nurse,  (a  woman  of  a  most  jealous,  domineerin ,% 
and  uncomfortable  fidelity, )  thought  well  of  our  gentle  youn  ;" 
guest,  and  welcomed  Miss  Grigsby. 

Charlotte,  you  see,  is  not  so  exceedingly  handsome  as  to 
cause  other  women  to  perjure  themselves  by  protesting  that  she 
is  no  great  things  after  all.  At  the  period  with  which  we  are 
concerned,  she  certainly  had  a  lovely  complexion,  which  her 
black  dress  set  off,  perhaps.  And  when  Philip  used  to  come 
into  the  room,  she  had  always  a  fine  garland  of  roses  ready  to 
offer  him,  and  growing  upon  her  cheeks,  the  moment  he  ap- 
peared. Her  manners  are  so  entirely  unaffected  and  simple 
that  they  can't  be  otherwise  than  sfood  •  for  is  she  not  grateful 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  493 

truthful,  unconscious  of  self,  easily  pleased  and  interested  in 
others?  Is  she  very  witty?  1  never  said  so — though  that  she 
appreciated  some  men's  wit  (whose  names  need  not  be  men- 
tioned) 1  cannot  doubt.  "  I  say,"  cries  Philip,  on  that  memor- 
able first  night  of  her  arrival,  and  when  she  and  other  ladies 
had  gone  to  bed,  "by  George  !  isn't  she  glorious,  I  say  !  What 
can  I  have  done  to  win  such  a  pure  little  heart  as  that  ?  Noti 
sum  dignus.  It  is  too  much  happiness — too  much,  by  George  ! " 
And  his  voice  breaks  behind  his  pipe,  and  he  squeezes  two  fists 
into  eyes  that  are  brimful  of  joy  and  thanks.  Where  Fortune 
bestows  such  a  bounty  as  this,  1  think  we  need  not  pity  a  man 
for  what  she  withdraws.  As  Philip  walks  away  at  midnight, 
(walks  away  ?  is  turned  out  of  doors  ;  or  surely  he  would  have 
gone  on  talking  till  dawn,)  with  the  rain  beating  in  his  face,  and 
fifty  or  a  hundred  pounds  for  all  his  fortune  in  his  pocket,  I 
think  there  goes  one  of  the  happiest  of  men — the  happiest  and 
richest.  For  is  he  not  possessor  of  a  treasure  which  he  could 
not  buy,  or  would  not  sell,  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  world  ? 

My  wife  may  say  what  she  will,  but  she  assuredly  is  answer- 
able for  the  invitation  to  Miss  Baynes,  and  for  all  that  ensued 
in  consequence.  At  a  hint  that  she  would  be  a  welcome  guest 
in  our  house,  in  London,  where  all  her  heart  and  treasure  lay, 
Charlotte  Baynes  gave  up  straightway  her  dear  aunt  at  Tours, 
who  had  been  kind  to  her  ;  her  dear  uncle,  her  dear  mamma, 
and  all  her  dear  brothers — following  that  natural  law  which 
ordains  that  a  woman,  under  certain  circumstances,  shall  resign 
home,  parents,  brothers,  sisters,  for  the  sake  of  that  one  indi- 
vidual who  is  henceforth  to  be  dearer  to  her  than  all.  Mrs. 
Baynes,  the  widow,  growled  a  complaint  at  her  daughter's  in- 
gratitude, but  did  not  refuse  her  consent.  She  may  have  known 
that  little  Hely,  Charlotte's  volatile  admirer,  had  fluttered  off 
to  another  flower  by  this  time,  and  that  a  pursuit  of  that  butter- 
fly was  in  vain  :  or  she  may  have  heard  that  he  was  going  to 
pass  the  spring — the  butterfly  season — in  London,  and  hoped 
that  he  perchance  might  again  light  on  her  girl.  Howbeit,  she 
was  glad  enough  that  her  daughter  should  accept  an  invitation 
to  our  house,  and  owned  that  as  yet  the  poor  child's  share  of 
this  life's  pleasures  had  been  but  small.  Charlotte's  modest 
little  trunks  were  again  packed,  then,  and  the  poor  child  was 
sent  off,  I  won't  say  with  how  small  a  provision  of  pocket- 
money,  by  her  mother.  But  the  thrifty  woman  had  but  lit- 
tle, and  of  it  was  determined  to  give  as  little  as  she  could. 
"  Heaven  will  provide  for  my  child,"  she  would  piously  say  ; 
and  hence  interfered  very  little  with  those  agents  whom  heaven 


494  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

sent  to  befriend  her  children.  '•  Her  mother  told  Charlotte 
that  she  would  send  her  some  money  next  Tuesday,"  the  Major 
told  us ;  "  but,  between  ourselves,  I  doubt  whether  she  will. 
Between  ourselves,  my  sister-in-law  is  always  going  to  give 
money  next  Tuesday  :  but  somehow  Wednesday  comes,  and 
the  money  has  not  arrived.  I  could  not  let  the  little  maid  be 
without  a  few  guineas,  and  ha\e  provided  her  out  of  a  half-pay 
purse  ;  but  mark  me,  that  pay-day  Tuesday  will  never  come." 
Shall  I  deny  or  confirm  the  worthy  Major's  statement  ?  Thus 
far  1  will  say,  that  Tuesday  most  'certainly  came  ;  and  a  letter 
from  her  mamma  to  C:harlotte,  whicii  said  that  one  of  her 
brothers  and  a  younger  sister  were  going  to  stay  with  aunt 
Mac  ;  and  that  as  Char  was  so  happy  with  her  most  hospitable 
and  kind  friends,  a  fond  widowed  mother,  who  had  given  up  all 
pleasures  for  herself,  would  not  interfere  to  prevent  a  darling 
child's  happiness. 

It  has  been  said  that  three  women,  whose  names  have  been 
given  up,  were  conspiring  in  the  behalf  of  this  young  person 
and  the  young  man  her  sweetheart.  Three  days  after  Char- 
lotte's arrival  at  our  house,  my  wife  persists  in  thinking  that  a 
drive  into  the  country  would  do  the  child  good,  orders  a 
brougham,  dresses  Charlotte  in  her  best,  and  trots  away  to  see 
Mrs.  Mugford  at  Hampstead.  Mrs.  Brandon  is  at  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford's,  of  course  quite  by  chance  :  and  I  feel  sure  that  Char- 
lotte's friend  compliments  Mrs.  Mugford  upon  her  garden,  upon 
her  nursery,  upon  her  luncheon,  upon  everything  that  is  hers. 
"Why,  dear  me,"  says  Mrs.  Mugford  (as  the  ladies  discourse 
upon  a  certain  subject),  "  what  does  it  matter  .?  Me  and  Mug- 
ford married  on  two  pound  a  week  ;  and  on  two  pound  a  week 
my  dear  eldest  children  were  born.  It  was  a  hard  struggle 
sometimes,  but  we  were  all  the  happier  for  it ;  and  I'm  sure  if 
a  man  won't  risk  a  little  he  don't  deserve  much.  I  know  1 
would  risk,  if  I  were  a  man,  to  marry  such  a  pretty  young  dear. 
And  I  should  take  a  young  man  to  be  but  a  mean-spirited 
fellow  who  waited  and  went  shilly-shallying  when  he  had  but 
to  say  the  word  and  be  happy.  I  thought  Mr.  F.  was  a  brave, 
courageous  gentleman,  I  did,  Mrs.  Brandon.  Do  you  want  me 
for  to  have  a  bad  opinion  of  him  ?  My  dear,  a  little  of  that 
cream.  It's  very  good.  We  'ad  a  dinner  yesterday,  and  a  cook 
down  from  town,  on  purpose."  This  speech,  with  appropriate 
imitations  of  voice  and  gesture,  was  repeated  to  the  present 
biographer  by  the  present  biographer's  wife,  and  he  now  began 
to  see  in  what  webs  and  meshes  of  conspiracy  these  artful 
women  had  cn\e]oped  the  subject  of  the  present  biography. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THh    WORLD. 


-195 


Like  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  the  other  matron,  Charlotte''s  friend, 
Mrs.  Mugford  became  interested  in  the  gentle  young  creature, 
and  kissed  her  kindly,  and  made  her  a  present  on  going  away. 
It  was  a  brooch  in  the  shape  of  a  thistle,  if  I  remember  aright, 
set  with  amethysts  and  a  lovely  Scottish  stone  called,  I  believe 
a  cairngorm.  "  She  ain't  no  stjde  about  her ;  and  I  confess, 
from  a  general's  daughter,  brought  up  on  the  Continent,  I 
should  liave  expected  better.  But  we'll  show  her  a  little  of  the 
world  and  the  opera,  Brandon,  and  she'll  do  very  well,  of  that 
I  make  no  doubt."  And  Mrs.  Mugford  took  Miss  Baynes  to 
the  opera,  and  pointed  out  the  other  people  of  fashion  there 
assembled.  And  delighted  Charlotte  was.  I  make  no  doubt 
there  was  a  young  gentleman  of  our  acquaintance  at  the  back 
of  the  box  who  was  very  happy  too.  And  this  year,  Philip's 
kinsman's  wife,  Lady  Ringwood,  had  a  box,  in  which  Philip 
saw  her  and  her  daughters,  and  little  Ringwood  Twysden 
paying  assiduous  court  to  her  ladyship.  They  met  in  the  crush- 
room  by  chance  again,  and  Lady  Ringwood  looked  hard  at 
Philip  and  the  blushing  young  lady  on  his  arm.  And  it 
happened  that  Mrs,  Mugford's  carriage — the  little  one-horse 
trap  which  opens  and  shuts  so  conveniently — and  Lady  Ring- 
wood's  tall,  emblazoned  chariot  of  state,  stopped  the  way 
together.  And  from  the  tall  emblazoned  chariot  the  ladies 
looked  not  unkindly  at  the  trap  which  contained  the  beloved  of 
Philip's  heart :  and  the  carriages  departed  each  on  its  way  ; 
and  Ringwood  Twysden,  seeing  his  cousin  ad^•ancing  towards 
him,  turned  very  pale,  and  dodged  at  a  double  quick  down  an 
arcade.  But  he  need  not  have  been  afraid  of  Philip.  Mr. 
Firmin's  heart  was  all  softness  and  benevolence  at  that  time. 
He  was  thinking  of  those  sweet,  sweet  eyes  that  had  just 
glanced  to  him  a  tender  good-night  ;  of  that  little  hand  which 
a  moment  since  had  hung  with  fond  pressure  on  his  arm.  Do 
you  suppose  in  such  a  frame  of  mind  he  had  leisure  to  think 
of  a  nauseous  little  reptile  crawling  behind  him  .^  He  was 
so  happy  that  night,  that  Philip  was  King  Philip  again.  And 
he  went  to  the  "  Haunt,"  and  sang  his  song  of  Gan-yowen  na 
gloria,  and  greeted  the  boys  assembled,  and  spent  at  least  three 
shillingsover  his  supper  and  drinks.  But  the  next  day  being 
Sunday,  Mr.  Firmin  was  at  Westminster  Abbey,  listening  to  the 
sweet  church  chants,,  by  the  side  of  the  very  same  young  person 
whom  he  had  escorted  to  the  opera  on  the  night  before.  They 
sat  together  so  close  that  one  must  have  heard  exactly  as  well 
as  the  other.  T  dare  say  it  is  edifying  to  listen  to  anthems  \ 
deux.     And  how  complimentary  to  the  c]erg}'man  to  have  to 


49^ 


THE  ADl'ENTURES  OF  PIIILU* 


wish  that  the  sermon  was  longer  !  Through  the  vast  cathedral 
aisles  the  organ  notes  peal  gloriously.  Ruby  and  topaz  and 
amethyst  blaze  from  the  great  church  windows.  Under  the 
tall  arcades  the  young  people  went  together.  Hand  in  hand 
they  passed,  and  thought  no  ill. 

Do  gentle  readers  begin  to  tire  of  this  spectacle  of  billing 
and  cooing  ?  I  have  tried  to  describe  Mr.  Philip's  love  affairs 
with  as  few  words  and  in  as  modest  phrases  as  may  be — omit- 
ting the  raptures,  the  passionate  vows,  the  reams  of  correspond- 
ence, and  the  usual  commonplaces  of  his  situation.  And  yet, 
my  dear  madam,  though  you  and  I  may  be  past  the  age  of 
billing  and  cooing,  though  your  ringlets,  which  1  remember  a 
lovely  auburn,  are  now — well — are  now  a  rich  purple  and  green 
black,  and  my  brow  may  be  as  bald  as  a  cannon-ball ; — 1 
say,  though  we  are  old,  we  are  not  too  old  to  forget.  W'e  ma\- 
not  care  about  the  pantomime  much  now,  but  we  like  to  take 
the  young  folks,  and  see  them  rejoicing.  From  the  window 
where  I  write,  I  can  look  down  into  the  garden  of  a  certain 
square.  In  that  garden  I  can  at  this  moment  see  a  young 
gentleman  and  lady  of  my  acquaintance  pacing  up  and  down. 
They  are  talking  some  such  talk  as  Milton  imagines  our  first 
parents  engaged  in  ;  and  yonder  garden  is  a  paradise  to  my 
young  friends.  Did  they  choose  to  look  outside  the  railings  of 
the  square,  or  at  any  other  objects  than  each  other's  noses,  they 
might  see — the  tax-gatherer  we  will  say — with  his  book,  knock- 
ing at  one  door,  the  doctor's  brougham  at  a  second,  a 
hatchment  over  the  windows  of  a  third  mansion,  the  baker's 
boy  discoursing  with  the  housemaid  over  the  railings  of  a 
fourth.  But  what  to  them  are  these  phenomena  of  life  ?  Arm 
in  arm  my  young  folks  go  pacing  up  and  down  their  Eden, 
and  discoursin;^  about  that  happy  time  which  I  suppose  is  now- 
drawing  near,  about  that  charming  little  snuggery  for  which  the 
furniture  is  ordered,  and  to  which,  miss,  your  old  friend  and 
very  humble  servant  will  take  the  liberty  of  forwarding  his 
best  regards  and  a  neat  silver  teapot.  I  dare  say.  with  tiiese 
young  people,  as  with  Mr.  Philip  and  Miss  Charlotte,  all 
occurrences  of  life  seem  to  have  reference  to  that  event  which 
forms  the  subject  of  their  perpetual  longing  and  contemplation. 
There  is  the  doctor's  brougliam  driving  away,  and  Imogene 
says  to  Alonzo,  "  What  anguish  1  shall  have  if  you  are  ill !  " 
Then  there  is  the  carpenter  putting  up  the  hatchment.  "Ah, 
my  love,  if  you  were  to  die,  I  think  they  might  put  up  a  hatch- 
ment for  both  of  us,"  says  .Alonzo,  with  a  killing  sigh.  Both 
sympathise  with  Mary  and  llie  baker's  boy  whispering  over  the 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


497 


railings.     Go  to,  gentle  baker's  boy,  we  also  know  what  it  is  to 
love  ! 

The  whole  soul  and  strength  of  Charlotte  and  Philip  being 
bent  upon  marriage,  I  take  leave  to  put  in  a  document  which 
Philip  received  at  this  time  ;  andean  imagine  that  it  occasioned 
no  little  sensation  : — 

"  A  star  Hoiise,  Neiv  Y'ork. 
"  And  so  you  are  returned  to  the  great  city — to  thtjumum,  the  strepitum,  and  I  sincerely 
hope  tht  opes  of  our  Rome  !  Your  own  letters  are  but  brief  ;  but  I  have  an  occasional  corre- 
spondent (there  are  few,  alas !  who  remember  the  exile  !)  who  keeps  nie  nu  cotiriinl  of  my 
Philip's  history,  and  tells  me  that  you  are  industrious,  that  you  are  cheerful,  that  you  prosper; 
Cheerfulness  is  the  companion  of  Industry,  Prosperity  their  offspring.  That  that  prosperity 
may  attain  the  fullest  growth,  is  an  absent  father's  fondest  prayer  !  Perhaps  ere  long  I 
shall  be  able  to  announce  to  you  that  I  too  ajn  prospering.  I  am  engaged  in  pursuing  a 
scientific  discovery  here  (it  is  medical,  and  connected  with  my  own  profession),  of  which  tlie 
results  oitght  to  lead  to  Fortune,  unless  the  jade  has  for  ever  deserted  George  Brand  Finnin  ! 
So  you  have  embarked  in  the  drudgery  of  the  press,  and  have  become  a  member  of  the 
fourth  estate.  It  has  been  despised,  and  press-man  and  poverty  were  for  a  long  time  sup- 
posed to  be  synonymous.  But  the  power,  the  wealth  of  tlie  press  are  daily  developing,  and 
they  will  increase  yet  further-  I  confess  I  should  have  liked  to  hear  that  my  Philip  was 
pursuing  his  profession  of  the  bar,  at  which  honor,  splendid  competence,  nay,  aristocratic 
rank,  are  the  prizes  of  the  bold,  the  industrious.,  andthe  d^serzthig.  Why  should  you  not? — 
should  I  not  still  hijpe  that  you  may  gain  legal  ejninence  and  position?  A  father  who  has 
had  much  to  suffer,  who  is  descending  the  vale  of  years  alone  and  in  a  distant  land,  would 
l)e  soothed  in  his  exile  if  he  thought  his  son  would  one  day  be  able  to  repair  the  shattered 
fortunes  of  his  race.  But  it  is  not  yet,  I  fondly  think,  too  late.  You  may  yet  qualify  for 
the  bar,  and  one  of  its  prizes  may  fail  to  you.  I  confess  it  was  not  without  a  pang  of  grief  I 
heard  from  our  kind  little  friend  Mrs.  B.,you  were  studying  shorthand  in  order  to  become 
a  newspaper  reporter.  .4nd  has  !•  ortune,  then,  been  so  relentless  to  me  that  my  son  is  to 
be  compelled  to  follow  such  a  calling?  I  shall  try  and  be  resigned.  I  had  hoped  higher 
things  for  you — for  me. 

"  My  dear  boy,  with  regard  to  your  romantic  attachment  for  Miss  Baynes,  which  our 
good  little  Brandon  narrates  to  me,  in  \\e\- peculiar  orthography,  but  with  much  touching 
simplicity, — I  make  it  a  rule  not  to  say  a  word  of  comment,  of  warning,  or  remonstrance. 
As  sure  as  you  are  your  father's  son,  you  will  take  yuur  own  line  in  any  matter  of 
attachment  to  a  woman,  and  all  the  fathers  in  the  world  won't  stop  you.  In  Philip  of  ftuir- 
and-twenty  (  recognize  his  father  thirty  years  ago.  My  father  scolded,  entreated,  quar- 
relled with  me,  never  forgave  me.  I  will  learn  to  be  more  generous  towards  my  son.  I 
may  grieve,  but  I  bear  you  no  malice.  If  ever  I  achieve  wealth  again,  you  shall  not  be 
deprived  of  it.  I  suffered  so  myself  from  a  harsh  father,  that  I  will  never  be  one  to  my 
son ! 

••  As  you  have  put  on  the  livery  of  the  Muses,  and  regularly  entered  yourself  of  the 
Fraternity  of  the  Press,  what  say  you  to  a  little  addition  to  your  income  by  letters  addressed 
to  ray  friend,  the  editor  of  the  new  journal,  called  here  the  Gazette  of  the  Upper  Ten 
Thousand.  It  is ///<?  fashionable  journal  published  here  ;  and  your  qualifications  are  pre- 
cisely those  which  would  make  your  services  valuable  as  a  contributor.  Doctor  Geraldine, 
the  editor,  is  not,  I  believe,  a  relative  of  the  Leinster  family,  but  a  self-made  man,  who 
arrived  in  this  country  some  years  since,  jioor,  and  an  exile  from  his  native  country.  He 
advocates  Repeal  politics  in  I're'and:  but  with  these  of  course  you  need  have  nothing  to  do. 
-And  he  is  much  too  liberal  to  expect  these  from  his  contributors.  Ihavebeen  of  service 
professionally  to  Mrs.  Geraldine  and  himself.  My  friend  of  the  £';«<?ra/<^  introduced  me  to 
the  doctor.  'Terrible  enemies  in  print,  in  private  they  are  perfectly  good  friends,  and  the 
little  passages  of  arms  between  the  two  journahsts  serve  rather  to  amuse  than  to  irritate. 
'  The  grocer's  boy  from  Ormond  Quay '  (Geraldine  (mce,  it  appears,  engaged  in  that  useful 
but  humble  calling),  and  the  '  miscreant  from  Cork' — the  editor  of  the  E vierald  comei  from 
that  city — assail  each  other  in  public,  but  drink  vvhisky-and-vv.iler  ^rt/ojv  in  private.  If  you 
write  for  Geraldine,  of  course  you  will  say  nothing  disrespectful  about  grocers''  boys.  His 
dollars  are  good  silver,  of  that  you  may  be  sure.  Dr.  G.  knows  a  part  of  your  history  : 
he  knr.wstli.it  vou  are  now  fairly  engaged  in  literary  pursuits  ;  that  you  are  a  man  of  educa- 
tion, a  geiitlciuaii,  a  man  of  the  world,  a  man  of  courage.  I  have  answered  for  your  pos- 
sessing all  these  qualities.  (The  doctor,  in  his  droll,  humorous  way,  said  that  if  you  were  a 
chip  of  the  old  block  you  would  be  just  what  he  called  '  the  grit.')  Political  treatises  are 
not  so  much  wanted  as  personal  news  regarding  the  notabilities  of  London,  and  these,  J 
jissured  him,  you  were  the  very  man  to  be  able"  to  furnish.     You,  who  know  everybody , 

32 


498 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  T  HI  LIP 


who  have  lived  with  the  great  world— the  world  of  lawyers,  the  world  of  artists,  the  world  ol 
the  university— have  already  had  an  experience  to  which  few  gentlemen  of  the  press  can 
boast  of,  and  may  turn  that  experience  to  profit.  Suppose  you  were  to  trust  a  little  to  your 
imagination  in  composing  these  letters  ?  there  can  be  no  harm  in  being  poetical.  Suppose  an 
intelligent  correspondent  writes  that  he  has  met  the  D-ke  of  W-U-ngt-n.had  a  private  interview 
with  the  Pr-m-r,  and  so  forth,  who  is  to  say  him  nay  ?  And  this  is  the  kind  of  talk  our^^i.-- 
mouches  of  New  York  delight  in.  My  worthy  friend,  Doctor  Geraldine,  for  example- be- 
tween ourselves  his  name  is  Kinnigan,  but  his  private  history  is  strictly  entre  «okj— when  he 
first  came  to  New  York  astonished  the  people  by  the  copiousness  of  his  anecdotes  regarding 
the  English  aristocracy,  of  whom  he  knows  as  much  as  he  does  of  the  Court  of  Pekin.  He 
was  smart,  ready,  sarcastic,  amusing  ;  he  found  readers  :  from  one  success  he  advanced  to 
another,  and  the  Gazette:  of  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  is  likely  to  make  this  worthy  man's 
fortune.  You  really  may  be  servicable  to  him,  and  may  justly  earn  the  liberal  remunera' 
Hon  which  he  offers  for  a  weekly  letter.  Anecdotes  of  men  and  women  of  fashion— the 
more  gay  and  lively  the  more  welcome— the  quicquidagunt  homines,  in  a  word,— should  be 
t\\e/arr<tgo  libelli.  Who  are  the  reigning  beauties  of  London  ?  and  Beauty,  you  know,  has 
a  rank  and  fashion  of  its  own  Has  any  one  lately  won  or  lost  on  the  tuif  or  at  play? 
What  are  the  clubs  talking  about  ?  Are  there  any  duels  >  What  is  tlie  last  scandal  ?  Does 
the  good  old  Duke  keep  his  healtli  ?  Is  that  affair  over  between  the  Duchess  of  This  and 
Captain  That  ?  .  ^  . 

"  Such  is  the  information  which  our  badauds  here  like  to  have,  and  for  which  my  friend 

the  doctor  will  pay  at  the  rate  of dollars  per  letter.     Your  name  need  not  appear  at  all. 

The  remuneration  is  certain.  Cest  a  prendre  ou  h  laisser,  as  our  lively  neighbors  say. 
Write  in  the  first  place  in  confidence  to  me  ;  and  in  whom  can  you  confide  more  safely  than 
in  your  father  ? 

"  You  will,  of  course,  pay  your  respects  to  your  relative  the  new  Lord  of  Ringwood. 
For  a  young  man  whose  family  is  so  powerful  as  yours,  there  can  surely  be  no  derogation 
in  entertaining  some  feudal  respect,  and  who  knows  whether  and  how  soon  Sir  John  Ring- 
wood  may  be  able  to  help  his  cousin  ?  By  the  way.  Sir  John  is  a  Whig,  and  your  paper  is 
a  Conservative.  \iu\.  yoxx  3.rc,  shove  3.\\,' ho/nmedu  iiionde.  In  such  a  subordinate  place 
as  you  occupy  with  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette,  a  man's  private  politics  do  not  surely  count  at 
all.  If  Sir  John  Ringwood,  your  kinsman,  sees  any  way  of  helping  you,  so  much  the  better, 
and  of  course  your  politics  will  be  those  of  your  family.  1  have  no  knowledge  of  him.  He 
was  a  very  quiet  man  at  college,  where,  I  regret  to  say,  your  father's  friends  wore  not  of 
the  quiet  sort  at  all.  I  trust  I  have  repented.  I  have  sown  my  wild  oats.  And  ah  !  how 
pleased  I  shall  be  to  hear  that  my  Philip  has  bent  his  proud  head  a  little,  and  is  ready  t<j 
submit  more  than  he  used  of  old  to  the  customs  of  the  world.  Call  upon  Sir  John.  then. 
As  a  Whijj  gentleman  of  large  estate,  1  need  not  tell  you  that  he  will  expect  respect  from 
you.  He  is  your  kinsman  ;  the  representative  of  your  grandfather's  gallant  and  noble  race. 
He  bears  the  name  your  mother  bore.  To  her  my  Philip  was  always  gentle,  and  for  her 
sake  you  will  comply  with  the  wishes  of 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 
"G.  B.  F." 

"  I  have  not  said  a  word  of  compliment  to  mademoiselle.  I  wish  her  so  well  that  1  own 
I  wish  she  were  about  to  marry  a  richer  suitor  than  my  dear  son.  Will  fortune  ever  permit 
me  to  embrace  my  daughter-in-law,  and  take  your  children  on  my  knee  ?  You  will  speak 
kindly  to  them  of  their  grandfather,  will  you  not?  Poor  General  Baynes,  I  have  heard, 
used  violent  and  unseemly  language  regarding  mc,  which  I  most  heartily  pardon.  I  am 
grateful  when  I  think  t/uit  f  vevcr  did  General  B.  an  injury :  grateful  and  proud  to  accept 
benefits  from  my  own  son.  These  I  treasure  up  in  my  heart ;  and  still  hope  I  shall  be  able 
to  repay  with  something  more  substantial  than  my  fondest  prayers.  Give  my  best  wishes, 
then,  to  Miss  Charlotte,  and  try  and  teach  her  to  "think  kindly  of  her  Philip's  father." 

Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  who  kept  the  name  of  Miss  Grigsby, 
the  governess  amongst  all  the  roguish  children  of  a  facetious 
father;  was  with  us  one  month,  and  her  mamma  expressed  great 
cheerfulness  at  her  absence,  and  at  the  thought  that  she  had 
found  such  good  friends.  After  two  months,  her  uncle,  Major 
MacWhirter,  retiu-ned  from  visiting  his  relations  in  the  North, 
and  offered  to  take  his  niece  back  to  France  again.  He  made 
this  proposition  with  the  jollycst  air  in  the  world,  and  as  if  his 
niece  would  jump  for  joy  to  go  back  t(j  her  motlun-.     I'ut  to  the 


OiV  HIS  U'A  Y  THROUGH  THE   WOKLD. 


499 


Major's  astonishment,  Miss  Baynes  turned  quite  pale,  ran  to 
her  hostess,  flung  herself  into  that  lady's  arms,  and  then  there 
began  an  osculatory  performance  whicli  perfectly  astonished  the 
good  Major.  Charlotte's  friend,  holding  Miss  fjaynes  tight  in 
her  embrace,  looked  fiercely  at  the  Major  over  the  girl's 
shoulder,  and  defied  him  to  take  her  away  from  that  sanctuary. 

"Oh,  you  dear,  good  friend!  "  Charlotte  gurgled  out,  and 
sobbed  I  know  not  what  more  expressions  of  fondness  and 
gratitude. 

But  the  truth  is,  that  two  sisters,  or  mother  and  daughter, 
could  not  love  each  other  more  heartily  than  these  two  person- 
ages. Mother  and  daughter  forsooth  !  You  should  have  seen 
Charlotte's  piteous  look  when  sometimes  the  conviction  would 
come  on  her  that  she  ought  at  length  to  go  home  to  mamma  ; 
such  a  look  as  I  can  fancy  Iphigenia  casting  on  Agamemnon, 
when,  in  obedience  to  a  painful  sense  of  duty,  he  was  about  to 
— to  use  the  sacrificial  knife.  No,  we  all  loved  her.  The 
children  would  howl  at  the  idea  of  parting  with  their  Miss 
Grigsby.  Charlotte,  in  return,  helped  them  to  very  pretty 
lessons  in  music  and  French — served  hot,  as  it  were,  from  her 
own  recent  studies  at  Tours — and  a  good  daily  governess 
operated  on  the  rest  of  their  education  to  everybody's  satis- 
faction. 

And  so  months  rolled  on  and  our  young  favorite  still 
remained  with  us.  Mamma  fed  the  little  maid's  purse  with 
occasional  remittances  ;  and  begged  her  hostess  to  supply  her 
with  all  necessary  articles  from  the  milliner.  Afterwards,  it  is 
true,  Mrs.  General  Baynes  *  *  But  why  enter  upon  these 
painful  family  disputes  in  a  chapter  which  has  been  devoted  to 
sentiment  ? 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Firmin  received  the  letter  above  faithfully 
copied,  (with  the  exception  of  the  pecuniary  offer,  which  I  do  not 
consider  myself  at  liberty  to  divulge,)  he  hurried  down  from 
Thornhaugh  Street  to  Westminster.  He  dashed  by  Buttons, 
the  page  ;  he  took  no  notice  of  my  wondering  wife  at  the 
drawing-room  door  ;  he  rushed  to  the  .second  floor,  bursting 
open  the  schoolroom  door,  where  Charlotte  was  teaching  our 
dear  third  daughter  to  play  "  In  my  Cottage  near  a  Wood." 

"  Charlotte  !  Charlotte" !  "  he  cried  out. 

"La,  Philip!  don't  you  see  Miss  Grigsby  is  giving  us 
lessons  .''  "  said  the  children. 

But  he  would  not  listen  to  those  wags,  and  still  beckoned 
Charlotte  to  him.  That  young  woman  rose  up  and  followed 
him  out  of  the  door  ;  indeed  she  would  have  followed  him  out  of 


goo  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  Elf  I  LIP 

the  window  ;  and  there,  on  the  stairs,  they  read  Doctor  Firmin's 
letter,  with  their  heads  quite  close  together,  you  understand. 

"  Two  hundred  a  year  more,"  said  Philip,  his  heart  throb- 
bing so  that  he  could  hardly  speak  ;  "  and  your  fift)- — and  tw^o 

hundred  the  Gazette — and " 

Oh,  Philip  !  "  was  all  Charlotte  could  say,  and  then- 


There  was  a  pretty  group  for  the  children  to  see,  and  for  an 
artist  to  draw  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

WAYS   AND    MEANS. 


Of  course  any  man  of  the  world,  who  is  possessed  of  decent 
prudence,  will  perceive  that  the  idea  of  marrying  on  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  so  secured  as  was  Master  Philip's 
income,  was  preposterous  and  absurd.  In  the  first  place,  you 
can't  live  on  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  that  is  a  cer- 
tainty. People  do  live  on  less,  I  believe.  But  a  life  without  a 
brougham,  without  a  decent  house,  without  claret  for  dinner, 
and  a  footman  to  wait,  can  hardly  be  called  existence.  Philip's 
income  might  fail  any  day.  He  might  not  please  the  American 
paper.  He  might  quarrel  with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  And 
then  what  would  remain  to  him  ?  Only  poor  little  Charlotte's 
fifty  pounds  a  year  !  So  Philip's  most  intimate  male  friend — a 
man  of  th*^  world,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  experience — argued. 
Of  cours«  I  was  not  surprised  that  Philip  did  not  choose  to 
take  my  advice  ;  though  1  did  not  expect  he  would  become  so 
violently  angry,  call  names  almost,  and  use  most  rude  ex- 
pres!iioMS,  when,  at  his  express  desire,  this  advice  was  tendered 
to  hiiv^  If  he  did  not  want  it,  why  did  lie  ask  for  it?  The 
advice  might  be  unwelcome  to  him,  but  why  did  he  choose  to 
tell  me  at  my  own  table,  over  my  own  claret,  that  it  was  the 
advice  of  a  sneak  and  a  worldling  ?  My  good  fellow,  that 
claret,  though  it  is  a  second  growth,  and  I  can  afford  no  better, 
costs  seventy-two  shillings  a  dozen.  How  much  is  six  times 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  ?  A  bottle  a  day  is  the  least  you 
can  calculate  (the  fellow  would  come  to  my  hoi;se  and  drink 
two  bottles  to  himself,  with  the  utmost  nonchalance).  A  bottle 
per  diem  of  that  light  claret — of  that  second-growth  stuff — costs 
one  hurdred  and  four  guineas  a  year,  do  you  understand  }  or, 


A    LETTER    FROM    NEW   YORK. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD  501 

lo  speak  plainly  with  you,  one  hundred  and  nine  pounds  Jour 
shillings  /" 

"  Well,"  says  Philip,  "  aprbs  ?  We'll  do  without.  Mean- 
time I  will  take  what  1  can  get ! "  and  he  tosses  off  about  a 
pint  as  he  speaks  (these  mousselifte  glass  are  not  only  enormous, 
but  they  break  by  dozens).  He  tosses  off  a  pint  of  my  Larose, 
and  gives  a  great  roar  of  laughter,  as  if  he  had  said  a  good  thing  ! 

Philip  Firmin  is  coarse  and  offensive  at  times,  and  Bickerton 
in  holding  this  opinion  is  not  altogether  wrong. 

"  I'll  drink  claret  when  I  eome  to  you,  old  boy,"  he  says, 
grinning  ;  "  and  at  home  I  will  have  whiskey-and-water." 

"  But  suppose  Charlotte  is  ordered  claret !  " 

"  Well,  she  can  have  it,"  says  this  liberal  lover;  "  a  bottle 
will  last  her  a  week." 

"  Don't  you  see,"  I  shriek  out,  "that  even  a  bottle  a  week 
costs  something  like — six  by  fifty-two — eighteen  pounds  a  year!  " 
(I  own  it  is  really  only  fifteen  twelve  ;  but,  in  the  hurry  of  argu- 
ment, a  man  may  stretch  a  figure  or  so.)  "  Eighteen  pounds 
for  Charlotte's  claret ;  as  much,  at  least,  you  great  boozy  toper, 
for  your  whiskey  and  beer.  Why,  you  actually  want  a  tenth  part 
of  your  income  for  the  liquor  you  consume  !  And  then  clothes  ; 
and  then  lodging  ;  and  then  coals  ;  and  then  doctor's  bills  ;  and 
then  pocket-money  ;  and  then  sea-side  for  the  little  dears.  Just 
have  the  kindness  to  add  these  things  up,  and  you  will  find  that 
you  have  about  two-and-ninepence  left  to  pay  the  grocer  and 
the  butcher." 

"  What  you  call  prudence,"  says  Philip,  thumping  the  table, 
and,  of  course,  breaking  a  glass,  "  I  call  cowardice — I  call 
blasphemy  !  Do  you  mean,  as  a  Christian  man,  to  tell  me  that 
two  young  people  and  a  family,  if  it  should  please  heaven  to 
send  them  one,  cannot  subsist  upon  five  hundred  pounds  a 
year  ?  Look  round,  sir,  at  the  myriads  of  God's  creatures  who 
live,  love,  are  happy  and  poor,  and  be  ashamed  of  the  wicked 
doubt  which  you  utter  !  "  And  he  starts  up,  and  strides  up 
and  down  the  dining-room,  curling  his  flaming  mustache,  and 
rings  the  bell  fiercely,  and  says,  "Johnson,  I've  broke  a  glass. 
Get  me  another." 

In  the  drawing-room,  my  wdfe  asks  what  we  two  were  fight- 
ing about  ?  And,  as  Charlotte  is  up  s'airs,  telling  the  children 
stories  as  they  are  put  to  bed,  or  writing  to  her  dear  mamma, 
or  what  not,  our  friend  bursts  out  with  more  rude  and  violent 
expressions  than  he  had  used  in  the  dinner-room  over  my 
glasses  which  he  was  smashing,  tells  my  own  wife  that  I  am  an 
atheist,  or  at  best  a  miserable  skeptic  and  Sadducee :  that  I 


502 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


doubt  of  the  goodness  of  heaven,  and  am  not  thankful  for  my 
daily  bread.  And,  with  one  of  her  kindling  looks  directed 
towards  the  young  man,  of  course  my  wife  sides  with  him.  Miss 
Char  presently  came  down  from  the  young  folks,  and  went  to 
the  piano,  and  played  us  Beethoven's  "  Dream  of  Saint  Jerome," 
which  always  soothes  me,  and  charms  me,  so  that  I  fancy  it  is 
a  poem  of  Tennyson  in  music.  And  our  children,  as  they  sink 
off  to  sleep  overhead,  like  to  hear  soft  music,  which  soothes 
theri^  into  slumber,  Miss  Baynes  says.  And  Miss  Charlotte 
looks  very  pretty  at  her  piano  ;  and  Philip  lies  gazing  at  her, 
with  his  great  feet  and  hands  tumbled  over  one  of  our  arm- 
chairs. And  the  music,  with  its  solemn  cheer,  makes  us  all 
very  happy  and  kind-hearted,  and  ennobles  us  somehow  as  we 
listen.  And  my  wife  wears  her  benedictory  look  whenever  she 
turns  towards  these  young  people.  She  has  worked  herself  up 
to  the  opinion  that  yonder  couple  ought  to  marry.  She  can 
give  chapter  and  verse  for  her  belief.  To  doubt  about  the 
matter  at  all  is  wicked  according  to  her  notions.  And  there 
are  certain  points  upon  which,  I  humbly  own,  that  I  don't  dare 
to  argue  with  her. 

When  the  women  of  the  house  have  settled  a  matter,  is  there 
much  use  in  man's  resistance  ?  If  my  harem  orders  that  I  shall 
wear  a  j^ellow  coat  and  pink  trousers,  I  know  that,  before  three 
months  are  over,  I  shall  be  walking  about  in  rose-tendre  and 
canary-colored  garments.  It  is  the  perseverance  which  con- 
quers, the  daily  return  to  the  object  desired.  Take  my 
advice,  my  dear  sir,  when  you  see  your  womankind  resolute 
about  a  matter,  give  up  at  once,  and  have  a  quiet  life.  Perhaps 
to  one  of  these  evening  entertainments,  where  Miss  Baynes 
played  the  piano,  as  she  did  yery  pleasantly,  and  Mr.  Philip's 
great  clumsy  fist  turned  the  leaves,  little  Mrs.  Brandon  would 
come  tripping  in,  and  as  she  surveyed  the  young  couple,  her 
remark  would  be,  "  Did  you  ever  see  a  better  suited  couple .''  " 
When  I  came  home  from  chambers,  and  passed  the  dining-room 
door,  my  eldest  daughter  with  a  knowing  face  would  bar  the 
way  and  say,  "  You  mustn't  go  in  there,  papa  !  Miss  Grigsby 
is  there,  and  Master  Philip  is  7iot  to  be  disturbed  at  his  lessons  1^'' 
Mrs.  Mugford  had  begun  to  arrange  marriages  between  her 
young  people  and  ours  from  the  very  first  day  she  saw  us  ;  and 
Mrs.  M.'s  ch.  filly  Toddles,  rising  two  years,  and  our  three- 
year  old  colt  Billyboy,  were  rehearsing  in  the  nursery  the  endless 
little  comedy  which  the  grown-up  young  persons  were  perform- 
ing in  the  drawing-room. 

With  the  greatest  frankness  Mrs.  Mugford  gave  her  opinion 


ON  HIS  ]VA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


503 


that  Philip,  with  four  or  live  hundred  a  year,  would  be  no  better 
than  a  sneak  if  he  delayed  to  marry.  How  much  had  she  and 
Mugford  when  they  married,  she  would  like  to  know  ?  "  Emily 
Street,  Pentonville,  was  where  we  had  apartments,"  she  re- 
marked ;  "  we  were  pinched  sometimes  ;  but  we  owed  nothing: 
and  our  housekeeping  books  I  can  show  you."  I  believe  Mrs. 
M.  actually  brought  these  dingy  relics  of  her  honeymoon  for 
my  wife's  inspection.  I  tell  you,  my  house  was  peopled  with 
these  friends  of  matrimony.  Flies  were  for  ever  in  requisition, 
and  our  boys  were  very  sulky  at  having  to  sit  for  an  hour  at 
Schoolbred's,  while  certain  ladies  lingered  there  over  blankets, 
tablecloths,  and  what  not.  Once  I  found  my  wife  and  Char- 
lotte flitting  about  Wardour  Street,  the  former  lady  much 
interested  in  a  great  Dutch  cabinet,  with  a  glass  cupboard  and 
corpulent  drawers.  And  that  cabinet  was,  ere  long,  carted  off 
to  Mrs.  Brandon's,  Thornhaugh  Street ;  and  in  that  glass  cup- 
board there  was  presently  to  be  seen  a  neat  set  of  china  for 
tea  and  breakfast.  The  end  was  approaching.  That  event, 
with  which  the  third  volume  of  the  old  novels  used  to  close, 
was  at  hand.  I  am  afraid  our  young  people  can't  drive  off 
from  St.  George's  in  a  chaise  and  four,  and  that  no  noble  rela- 
tive will  lend  them  his  castle  for  the  honeymoon.  Well :  some 
people  cannot  drive  to  happiness,  even  with  four  horses  ;  and 
other  folks  can  reach  the  goal  on  foot.  My  venerable  Muse 
stoops  down,  unlooses  her  cothurnus  with  some  difficulty,  and 
prepares  to  fling  that  old  shoe  after  the  pair. 

Tell,  venerable  Muse  !  what  were  the  marriage  gifts  which 
friendship  provided  for  Philip  and  Charlotte  ?  Philip's  cousin, 
Ringwood  Twysden,  came  simpering  up  to  me  at  "  Bays's 
Club  "  one  afternon,  and  said  :  "  I  hear  my  precious  cousin  is 
going  to  marry.  I  think  I  shall  send  him  a  broom  to  sweep  a 
crossin'."  I  was  nearly  going  to  say,  "This  was  a  piece  of 
generosity  to  be  expected  from  your  father's  son  ;"  but  the 
fact  is,  that  I  did  not  think  of  this  withering  repartee  until  I 
was  crossing  St.  James's  Park  on  my  way  home,  when  Twysden 
of  course  was  out  of  ear-shot.  A  great  number  of  my  best 
witticisms  have  been  a  little  late  in  making  their  appearance  in 
the  world.  If  we  could  but  hear  the  ////spoken  jokes,  how  we 
should  all  laugh ;  if  we  could  but  speak  them,  how  witty  we 
should  be  !  When  you  have  left  the  room,  you  have  no  notion 
what  clever  things  I  was  going  to  say  when  you  baulked  me  by 
going  away.  Well,  then,  the  fact  is,  the  Twysden  family  gave 
Philip  nothing  on  his  marriage,  being  the  exact  sum  of  regard 
which  they  professed  to  have  for  him. 


S04 


THE  AD  VEX  TURKS  OF  PHILIP 


Mrs.  Major  MAcWHiRTERgave  the  bride  an  Indinn  l)rnoch, 
representing  the  Taj  Mahal  at  Agra,  ^vhich  (General  JJaynes 
had  given  to  his  sister-in-law  in  old  days.  At  a  later  period,  it 
is  true,  Mrs.  Mac  asked  Charlotte  for  the  brooch  back  again  ; 
but  this  was  when  many  family  quarrels  had  raged  l)etween  the 
relatives — quarrels  which  to  describe  at  length  would  be  to  tax 
too  much  the  writer  and  the  readers  of  this  history. 

Mrs.  Mugford  presented  an  elegant  plated  coffee-pot,  six 
drawing-room  almanacs  (spoils  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette),  and 
fourteen  richly  cut  jelly-glasses,  most  useful  for  negus  if  the 
young  couple  gave  evening-parties  ;  for  dinners  they  would  not 
be  able  to  afford. 

Mrs.  Brandon  made  an  offering  of  two  tablecloths  and 
twelve  dinner  napkins,  most  beautifully  worked,  and  I  don't 
know  how  much  house  linen. 

The  Lady  of  the  Present  Writer — Twelve  tea-spoons 
in  bullion,  and  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs.  Mrs.  Baynes,  Philip's 
mother-in-law,  sent  him  also  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs,  of  a  light 
manufacture,  easily  broken.  He  keeps  a  tong  to  the  present 
day,  and  speaks  very  satirically  regarding  that  relic. 

Philip's  Inn  of  Court — A  bill  for  commons  and  Inn 
taxes,  with  the  Treasurer's  compliments. 

And  these,  I  think,  formed  the  items  of  poor  little  Char- 
lotte's meagre  trousseau.  Before  Cinderella  went  to  the  ball 
she  was  almost  as  rich  as  our  little  maid.  Charlotte's  mother 
sent  a  grim  consent  to  the  child's  marriage,  but  declined  her- 
self to  attend  it.  She  wms  ailing  and  poor.  Her  year's  widow- 
hood was  just  over.  She  had  her  other  children  to  look  after. 
My  impression  is  that  Mrs.  Baynes  thought  that  she  would  be 
out  of  Philip's  power  so  long  as  she  remained  abroad,  and  that 
the  (General's  savings  would  be  secure  from  him.  So  she  dele- 
gated her  authority  to  Philip's  friends  in  London,  and  sent  her 
daughter  a  moderate  wish  for  her  happiness,  which  may  or  may 
not  have  profited  the  young  people. 

"Well,  my  dear,  you  are  rich,  compared  to  what  I  was, 
when  I  married,"  little  Mrs.  Brandon  said  to  her  young  friend. 
"You  will  have  a  good  husband.  That  is  more  than  I  had. 
You  will  have  good  friends  ;  and  I  was  almost  alone  for  a 
time,  until  it  pleased  God  to  befriend  me."  It  was  not  without 
a  feeling  of  awe  that  we  saw  these  young  people  commence 
that  voyage  of  life  on  which  henceforth  they  were  to  journey 
together  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  of  the  small  company  who  accom- 
panied them  to  the  silent  little  chapel  where  they  were  joined 
in  marriaije  there  was   not  one  who  did  not  follow  them  with 


OA'  ///S   Il'.n'  Til  ROUGH  THF.    WORLD.  t;o5 

tender  ^ood  wishes  and  heartfcll  prayers.  'I1ie\-  iiad  a  little 
purse  provided  for  a  month's  holiday.  They  had  health,  hope, 
good  spirits,  good  friends.  I  have  never  learned  that  life's 
trials  were  over  after  marriage  ;  only  lucky  is  he  who  has  a 
loving  companion  to  share  them.  As  for  the  lady  with  whom 
Charlotte  had  stayed  before  her  marriage,  she  was  in  a  state 
of  the  most  lachrymose  sentimentality.  She  sat  "on  the  bed  in 
the  chamber  which  the  little  maid  had  vacated.  Her  tears 
flowed  copiously.  She  knew  not  why,  she  could  not  tell  how 
the  girl  had  wound  herself  round  her  maternal  heart.  And  I 
think  if  heaven  had  decreed  this  young  creature  should  be 
poor,  it  had  sent  her  many  blessings  and  treasures  in  compen- 
sation. 

Every  respectable  man  and  woman  in  London  will,  of 
course,  pity  these  young  people,  and  reprobate  the  mad  risk 
which  they  were  running,  and  yet,  by  the  influence  and  example 
of  a  sentimental  wife  probably,  so  madly  sentimental  have  I 
become,  that  I  own  sometimes  I  almost  fancy  these  misguided 
wretches  were  to  be  envied. 

A  melancholy  little  chapel  it  is  where  they  were  married, 
and  stands  hard  by  our  house.  We  did  not  decorate  the 
church  with  flowers,  or  adorn  the  beadles  with  white  ribbons. 
We  had,  I  must  confess,  a  dreary  llt.le  breakfast,  not  in  the 
least  enlivened  by  Mugford's  jokes,  who  would  make  a  speech 
de  circonstaiue,  which  was  not,  I  am  thankful  to  sa}-,  reported  in 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  "  ^^'e  sha'n't  charge  you  for  advertising 
the  marriage  there,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Mugford  said.  "  And  I've 
alread}'  took  it  myself  to  Mr.  Burjoyce."  Mrs.  Mugford  had  in- 
sisted upon  pinning  a  large  white  favor  upon  John,  who  drove 
her  from  Hampstead  :  but  that  was  the  only  ornament  present 
at  the  nuptial  ceremony,  much  to  the  disappointment  of  the 
good  lady.  There  was  a  very  pretty  cake,  with  two  doves  in 
sugar,  on  '"he  top,  which  the  Little  Sister  made  and  sent,  and 
no  other  hymeneal  emblem.  Our  little  girls  as  bridesmaids  ap- 
peared, to  be  sure,  in  new  bonnets  and  dresses,  but  everybody 
else  looked  so  quiet  and  demure,  that  when  we  went  into  the 
church,  three  or  four  street  urchins  knocking  about  the  gate, 
said,  "  Look  at  'em.  They're  going  to  be  'ung."  And  so  the 
words  are  spoken,  and  the  indissoluble  knot  is  tied.  Amen. 
For  better,  for  worse,  for  good  days  or  evil,  love  each  other, 
cling  to  each  other,  dear  friends.  Fulfil  your-  course,  and  ac- 
complish your  life's  toil.  In  sorrow,  soothe  each  other  ;  in 
illness,  watch  and  tend.  Cheer,  fond  wife,  the  husband's 
struggle  ;  lighten  his  gloomy  hours  with  your  tender  smiles,  ancl 


5o6  THE  ADl'EXTUKES  OE  PHILIP 

gladden  his  home  \viti\  your  love.  Husband,  father,  whatso- 
ever your  lot,  be  your  heart  pure,  your  life  honest.  For  the 
sake  of  those  who  bear  your  name,  let  no  bad  action  sully  it.  As 
you  look  at  those  innocent  faces,  which  ever  tenderly  greet  you, 
be  yours,  too,  innocent,  and  your  conscience  without  reproach. 
As  the  young  people  kneel  before  the  altar  railing,  some  such 
thoughts  as  these  pass  through  a  friend's  mind  who  witnesses 
the  ceremony  of  their  marriage.  Is  not  all  we  hear  in  that 
place  meant  to  apply  to  ourselves,  and  to  be  carried  away  for 
everyday  cogitation  ? 

After  the  ceremony  we  sign  the  book,  and  walk  back  de- 
murely to  breakfast.  And  Mrs.  Mugford  does  not  conceal  her 
disappointment  at  the  small  preparations  made  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  marriage  party.  "  I  call  it  shabby,  Brandon  ;  and 
I  speak  my  mind.  No  favors.  Only  your  cake.  No  speeches 
to  speak  of.  No  lobster-salad  :  and  wine  on  the  sideboard. 
I  thought  your  Queen  Square  friends  knew  how  to  do  the  thing 
better !  When  one  of  viy  gurls  is  married,  I  promise  you  we 
sha'n't  let  her  go  out  of  the  back  door  ;  and  at  least  we  shall 
have  the  best  four  grays  that  Newman's  can  furnish.  It's  my 
belief  your  young  friend  is  getting  too  fond  of  money,  Brandon, 
and  so  I  have  told  Mugford."  But  these,  you  see,  were  only 
questions  of  taste.  Good  Mrs.  Mugford's  led  her  to  a  green 
satin  dress  and  pink  turban,  when  other  ladies  were  in  gray  or 
quiet  colors.  The  intimacy  between  our  two  families  dwindled 
immediately  after  Philip's  marriage  ;  Mrs.  M.,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  setting  us  down  as  shabby-genteel  people,  and  she  couldn't 
bear  screwing — never  could  I 

Well :  the  speeches  were  spoken.  The  bride  was  kissed, 
and  departed  with  her  bridegroom  :  they  had  not  even  a  valet 
and  lady's-maid  to  bear  them  company.  The  route  of  the  happy 
pair  was  to  be  Canterbury,  Folkestone,  Boulogne,  Amiens, 
Paris,  and  Italy  perhaps,  if  their  little  stock  of  pocket-money 
would  ser\'e  them  so  far.  But  the  very  instant  when  half  was 
spent,  it  was  agreed  that  these  young  people  should  turn  their 
faces  homeward  again  ;  and  meanwhile  the  printer  and  Mugford 
himself  agreed  that  they  would  do  Mr.  Sub-editor's  duty.  How 
much  had  they  in  the  little  purse  for  their  pleasure-journey.? 
That  is  no  business  of  ours,  surely  ;  but  with  youth,  health,  hap- 
piness, love,  amongst  their  possessions,  I  don't  think  our  3'oung 
friends  had  need  to  be  discontented.  Away  then  they  drive  to 
their  cab  to  the  railway  station.  Farewell,  and  heaven  bless 
you,  Charlotte  and  Philip  !  I  have  said  how  I  found  my  wife 
crying  in  her  favorite's  vacant  bedroom.     The  marriage  table 


ON  HTS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  507 

did  coldly  furnish  forth  ;i  funeral  kind  of  dinner.  'I'he  cold 
chicken  choked  us  all,  and  the  jelly  was  but  a  sickly  compound 
to  my  taste,  though  it  was  the  Little  Sister's  most  artful  manu- 
facture. I  own  for  one  I  was  quite  miserable.  I  found  no 
comfort  at  clubs,  nor  could  the  last  new  novel  fix  my  atten 
tention.  I  saw  Philip's  eyes  and  heard  the  warble  of  Charlotte's 
sweet  voice.  I  walked  off  from  "  Bays's,"  and  through  Old 
Parr  Street,  where  Philip  had  lived,  and  his  parents  entertained 
me  as  a  boy ;  and  then  tramped  to  Thornhaugh  Street,  rather 
ashamed  of  myself.  The  maid  said  mistress  was  in  Mr. 
Philip's  rooms,  the  two  pair, — and  what  was  that  I  heard  on 
the  piano  as  I  entered  the  apartment  ?  Mrs.  Brandon  sat  there 
hemming  some  chintz  window-curtains,  or  bed-curtains,  or  what 
not :  by  her  side  sat  my  own  eldest  girl  stitching  away  verj' 
resolutely ;  and  at  the  piano — the  piano  which  Philip  had 
bought — there  sat  my  own  wife  picking  out  that  "  Dream  of 
Saint  Jerome,"  of  Beethoven,  which  Charlotte  used  to  play  so 
delicately.  We  had  tea  out  of  Philip's  tea-things,  and  a  nice 
hot  cake,  which  consoled  some  of  us.  But  I  have  known  few 
evenings  more  melancholy  than  that.  It  felt  like  the  first  night 
at  school  after  the  holidays,  when  we  all  used  to  try  and  appear 
cheerful,  you  know.  But  ah  !  how  dismal  the  gayety  was  :  and 
how  dreary  that  lying  awake  in  the  night,  and  thinking  of  the 
happy  days  just  over. 

The  way  in  which  we  looked  forward  for  letters  from  our 
bride  and  bridegroom  was  quite  a  curiosity.  At  length  a  letter 
arrived  from  these  personages  :  and  as  it  contains  no  secret,  I 
take  the  liberty  to  print  it  m  extenso. 

"  A  miens,  Friday,    Paris,  Saturday. 

"  Dearest  Friends, — (For  the  dearest  friends  you  are  to  us,  and  will  continue  to  be 
as  long  as  lue  live) — We  perform  our  promise  of  writing  to  you  to  say  that  we  are  luell,  and 
safe,  and  happy  I  Philip  says  I  mustn't  use  dashes,  \iVLK  1  can't  help  it.  He  says,  he 
supposes  I  am  dashing  off  a  letter.  You  know  his  joking  way.  Oh,  what  a  blessing 
it  is  to  see  him  so  happy.  And  if  he  is  happy  I  am.  I  tremble  to  think  how  happy.  He 
sits  opposite  me,  smoking  his  cigar,  looking  so  noble !  /  like  it,  and  I  went  to  our 
room  and  brought  him  this  ott£.  He  says,  '  Char,  if  I  were  to  say  bring  me  your  head, 
you  would  order  a  waiter  to  cut  it  off.'  Pray,  did  I  not  promise  three  days  ago  to  love, 
honor,  and  obey  him,  and  am  I  going  to  break  my  promise  already?  I  hope  not.  I  pray 
not.  All  my  life  1  hope  I  shall  be  trying  to  keep  that  promise  of  mine.  We  liked 
Canterbury  almost  as  much  as  dear  Westminster.  We  had  an  open  carriage  and  took  a 
glorious  drive  to  Folkestone,  and  in  the  crossing  Philip  was  ill,  and  I  wasn't.  And  he 
looked  very  droll  ;  and  he  was  in  a  dreadful  bad  humor  ;  and  that  was  my  first  appearance 
as  nurse.  I  think  I  should  like  him  to  be  a  little  ill  sometimes,  so  that  I  may  sit  up  and 
take  care  of  him.  We  went  through  the  cords  at  the  custom-house  at  Boulogne  ;  and  I 
remembered  how,  two  years  ago,  I  passed  through  those  very  cords  with  my  poor  papa,  and 
\e  stood  outside,  and  saw  us  !  We  went  to  the  '  Hotel  des  i5ains.'  We  walked  about  the 
town.  We  went  to  the  Tintelleries,  where  we  used  to  live,  and  to  your  house  in  the 
Haute  Ville,  where  f  remember  everything  as  if  it  was  yesterday.  Don't  you  remember, 
as  we  were  walking  one  day,  you  said,  'Charlotte,  there  is  the  steamer  coming  ;  there  is 
the  smoke  of  his  funnel  ;  '  and  I  said,  '  What  steamer?'  and  you  said,  'The  Philip,  to  be 
sure.'     And  he  came  up,  smoking  his  pipe  !     We  passed  over  and  over  the  old  ground  where 


So8 


THE  ADVRh'TURRS  OF  PIFILIP 


wc  used  to  walk.  We  went  to  the  pier,  and  gave  money  to  the  poor  little  hunchback  ■who 
plays  the  guitar,  and  he  said, 'iWirrc/,  miidame.'  How  droll  it  sounded?  And  that  good 
kind  Marie  at  the  '  Hotel  dcs  Bains'  remembered  us,  and  called  us  '  titcs  en/ans.^  And  if 
you  were  not  the  most  good-natured  woman  in  the  world,  I  think  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
write  such  nonsense. 

"  Think  of  Mrs.  Brandon  having  knitted  me  a  purse,  which  she  gave  me  as  we  went  away 
from  dear,  dear  Queen  Square;  and  when  1  opened  it,  there  were  five  sovereigns 
in  it !  When  we  found  what  the  purse  contained,  Philip  used  one  of  his  great  jurons  (as 
he  always  does  when  he  is  most  tender-hearted),  and  he  said  that  woman  was  an  angel,  and 
that  we  would  keep  those  five  sovereigns,  and  never  change  them.  Ah!  I  am  thankful  my 
husband  has  such  friends!  I  will  love  all  who  love  him — you  most  of  all.  For  were  not 
you  the  means  of  bringing  this  noble  heart  to  me  ?  I  fancy  I  have  known  bigger  people,  since 
1  have  known  you,  and  some  of  your  friends.  Their  talk  is  simpler,  their  thoughts  are 
greater  than — those  with  whom  I  used  to  live.  P.  says,  heaven  has  given  Mrs.  Brandon 
such  a  great  heart,  that  she  must  have  a  good  intellect.  If  loving  my  Philip  be  wisdom,  I 
know  some  one  who  will  be  very  wise  ! 

"  If  I  was  not  in  a  very  great  hurry  to  see  mamma,  Philip  said  we  might  stop  a  day  at 
Amiens.  And  we  went  to  the  Cathedral,  and  to  whom  do  you  think  it  is  dedicated?  to  nty 
saint:  to  Saint  Firimin!  and  oh!  I  prayed  to  heaven  to  give  me  strength  to  devote  my 
life  to  iny  sainf  s  service,  to  love  him  always,  as  a  pure,  true  wife  ;  in  sickness  to  guard 
him,  in  sorrow  to  soothe  him.  I  will  try  and  learn  and  study,  not  to  make  my  intellect 
equal  to  his — very  few  women  can  hope  for  that — but  that  I  may  better  comprehend  him, 
and  give  him  a  companion  more  worthy  of  him.  I  wonder  whether  there  are  many  men  in 
the  world  as  clever  as  our  husbands?  Though  Philip  is  so  modest.  He  says  he  is  not 
c\t\'e.r  at  all.  Yet  I  know  he  is,  and  grander  somehow  than  other  men.  I  said  nothing, 
but  I  used  to  listen  at  Queen  Square  ;  and  some  who  came  who  thought  best  of  themselves, 
seemed  to  me  pert,  and  worldly,  and  small  ;  and  some  were  like  princes  somehow.  My 
Philip  is  one  of  the  prince=.  Ah,  dear  friend  !  may  I  not  give  thanks  where  thanks  are  due, 
that  I  am  chosen  to  be  the  wife  of  a  true  gentleman  ?  Kind,  and  brave,  and  loyal  Philip  ! 
Honest  and  generous, — above  deceit  or  selfish  scheme.  Oh  I  I  hope  it  is  not  wrong  to  be 
so  happy! 

"  We  wrote  to  mamma  and  dear  Madame  Smolensk  to  say  we  were  coming.  Mamma 
finds  Madame  de  Valentinois'  boarding-house  even  dearer  than  dear  Madame  Smolensk's. 
1  don't  mean  a  pun  !  She  says  she  has  found  out  that  Madame  de  Valentmois'  real  name 
is  Cornichon  ;  that  she  was  a  person  of  the  worst  character,  and  that  cheating  at  ^carif  was 
practised  at  her  house.  She  took  up  her  own  two  francs  and  another  two-franc  piece  from 
the  card-table,  saying  that  Colonel  Boulotte  was  cheating,  and  by  rights  the  money  was 
h--rs.  She  is  going  to  leave  Madame  de  Valentinois  at  the  end  of  her  month,  or  as  soon  as 
her  children,  who  have  the  measles,  can  move.  She  desired  that  on  no  account  I  would 
come  to  see  her  at  Madame  V.'s;  and  she  brought  Philip  izl.  loj.  in  five-franc  pieces, 
which  she  laid  down  on  the  table  before  him,  and  said  it  was  my  first  quarter's  payment.  It 
is  not  due  yet,  I  know.  '  But  do  you  think  I  will  be  beholden,'  says  she,  '  to  a  man  like 
you!  '  And  P.  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  put  the  rouleau  of  silver  pieces  into  a  drawer. 
He  did  not  say  a  word,  but  of  course,  I  saw  he  was  ill  jileased.  '  What  shall  we  do  with 
your  fortune.  Char  ? '  he  said,  when  mamma  went  away.  And  a  part  we  spent  at  the  opera 
and  at  Veiy's  restaurant,  where  we  took  our  dear  kind  Madame  Smolensk.  \h,  how  good 
that  woman  was  to  me  !  Ah,  how  I  suffered  in  that  house  when  mamma  wanted  to  part 
me  from  Philip  !  We  walked  by  and  saw  the  windows  of  the  room  where  that  horrible, 
horrible  tragedy  was  performed,  and  Philip  shook  his  fist  at  the  green  jalousies.  'Good 
heavens  !  '  he  said  :  '  how,  my  darling,  how  I  was  made  to  suffer  there  !  '  I  bear  no  malice. 
I  will  do  no  injury.  But  1  can  never  forgive  :  never!  I  can  forgive  mamma,  who  made  my 
husband  so  unhappy  ;  but  can  I  love  her  again  ?  Indeed  and  indeed  I  have  tried.  Often 
and  often  in  my  dreams  that  horrid  tragedy  is  acted  over  again  ;  and  they  are  taking  him 
from  me,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  should  die.  When  I  was  with  you  I  used  often  to  be  afraid  to  go 
to  sleep  for  fear  of  that  dreadful  dream,  and  I  kept  one  of  his  letters  under  my  pillow  so 
that  I  might  hold  it  in  the  night.  And  now!  No  one  can  part  us! — oh,  no  one! — until 
the  end  comes  I 

"  He  took  me  about  to  all  his  old  hacti^or  haunts  ;  to  the  '  Hotel  Poussin,'  where  he 
used  to  live,  which  is  very  dingy  but  comfortable.  And  he  introduced  me  to  the  landlady, 
in  a  Madras  handkerchief,  and  to  the  landlord  (in  earrings  and  with  no  coat  on),  and  to  the 
little  boy  •wVio/rotles  the  floors.  And  he  said,  '  Tiens  '  and  '  tnerci,  tnadame  I '  as  v/e  gave 
him  a  five-franc  jiiece  out  of  my  fortune-  And  then  we  went  to  the  cafe  opposite  the  Bourse, 
where  Philip  used  to  write  his  letters  ;  and  then  we  went  to  the  P.alais  Royal,  where 
Madame  de  Smolensk  was  in  waiting  for  us.  And  then  we  went  to  the  play.  And  then  we 
■went  to  Tortoni's  to  take  ices.  And  then  we  walked  a  (lart  of  the  way  liome  with  Madame 
Smolensk  under  a  hundred  million  blazing  stars  ;  and  then  we  walked  down  the  Champs 
Elysdes  avenues,  by  which  Philip  used  to  come  to  me,  and  beside  the  plashing  fountains 
shining  under  the  silver  moon.  And,  oh,  Laura!  I  wonder  under  the  silver  moon  wa» 
anybody  so  happy  as  vour  loving  and gratefod 

"  C.  F." 


ON  HfS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   U'ONf.D.  509 

•' P.S."  [In  the  handwriting  of  Philip  Firmin  Esq.]— "  Mv  dear  Friends.— I'm  so 
jolly  that  it  seems  like  a  dream.  I  have  been  watching  Charlotte  scribble,  scribble  for  an 
hour  past  ;  and  wondered  and  thought  is  it  actually  true  ?  and  gone  and  convinced  myself 
of  the  truth  by  looking  at  the  paper  and  the  dashes  which  she  will  put  tnider  the  words. 
My  dear  friends,  what  have  I  done  in  life  that  I  am  to  be  made  a  present  of  a  little  angel  ? 
Once  tlure  was  so  much  wrong  in  me,  and  my  heart  was  so  black  and  revengeful,  that  I . 
knew  not  what  might  happen  to  me.  .She  came  and  rescued  me.  The  love  of  this  creature 
l)«rifies  me— and— and  I  think  that  is  all.  I  think  I  onljr  want  to  say  that  I  am  the  hap- 
piest man  in  Europe.  That  Saint  Firmin  at  Amiens  !  Didn't  it  seem  like  a  good  omen? 
By  St.  George  !  1  never  heard  of  St.  F.  until  I  lighted  on  him  in  the  cathedral.  When 
shall  we  write  next  ?  Where  shall  we  tell  you  to  direct?  We  don't  know  where  we  are 
going.  We  don't  want  letters.  But  we  are  not  the  less  grateful  to  dear  kind  friends  ;  and 
our  names  are  ,,  „  „    ^   , 

"  P.  AND  C.  F.  ' 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

DESCRIBES    A    SITUATION    INTERESTING    BUT    NOT    UNEXPECTED. 

Only  very  wilful  and  silly  children  cry  after  the  moon. 
Sensible  people  who  have  shed  their  sweet  tooth  can't  be 
expected  to  be  very  much  interested  about  honey.  We  may 
hope  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philip  Firmin  enjoyed  a  pleasant  wedding 
tour  and  that  sort  of  thing  :  but  as  for  chronicling  its  delights 
or  adventures,  Miss  Sowerby  and  I  vote  that  the  task  i ;  alto- 
gether needless  and  immoral.  Young  people  are  already  much 
too  sentimental,  and  inclined  to  idle,  maudlin  reading.  Life  is 
earnest,  Miss  Sowerby  remarks  (with  a  strong  inclination  to 
spell  "  earnest  "  with  a  large  E).  Life  is  labor.  Life  is  duty. 
Life  is  rent.  Life  is  taxes.  Life  brings  its  ills,  bills,  doctor's 
pills.  Life  is  not  a  mere  calendar  of  honey  and  moonshine. 
Very  good.  But  without  love,  Miss  Sowerby,  life  is  just  death, 
and  I  know,  my  dear,  you  would  no  more  care  to  go  on  with  it, 
than  with  a  new  chapter  of — of  our  dear  friend  Boreham's  new 
story. 

Between  ourselves,  Philip's  humor  is  not  much  more  light- 
some than  that  of  the  ingenious  contemporary  above  named  ; 
but  if  it  served  to  amuse  Philip  himself,  why  baulk  him  of  a 
little  sport  ?  Well,  then  :  he  wrote  us  a  great  ream  of  lumber- 
ing pleasantries,  dated  Paris,  Thursday ;  Geneva,  Saturday. 
Summit  of  Mont  Blanc.  Monday ;  Timbuctoo,  Wednesday. 
Pekin,  Friday — with  facetious  descriptions  of  those  spots  and 
cities.  He  said  that  in  the  last-naftied  place,  Charlotte's  shoes 
being  worn  out,  those  which  she  purchased  were  rather  tight 
for  her,  and  the  high  heels  annoyed  her.     He   stated  that  the 


51° 


rilE  ADVENTURES  OF  PIULir 


beef  at  Timbuctoo  was  not  cooked  enough  for  Charlotte's  taste, 
and  that  the  Emperor's  attentions  were  becoming  rather  marked, 
and  so  forth  ;  whereas  poorlittle  Char's  simple  postscripts  men- 
tioned no  travelling  at  all  ;  but  averred  tiiat  they  were  staying- 
at  Saint  Ciermain,  and  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long.  As 
happy  as  the  day  was  long  ?  As  it  was  short,  alas  !  Their 
little  purse  was  very  slenderly  furnished ;  and  in  a  very,  ver}'- 
brief  holiday,  poor  Philip's  few  napoleons  had  almost  all  rolled 
away.  Luckily,  it  was  pay-day  when  the  young  people  came 
back  to  London.  They  were  almost  reduced  to  the  Little  Sis- 
ter's wedding  present :  and  surely  they  would  rather  work  than 
purchase  a  few  hours'  more  ease  with  that  poor  widow's  mite. 

Who  talked  and  was  afraid  of  poverty  ?  Philip,  with  his 
two  newspapers,  averred  that  he  had  enough ;  more  than 
enough ;  could  save  ;  could  put  by.  It  was  at  this  time  that 
Ridley,  the  Academician,  painted  that  sweet  picture,  No,  1,976 
— of  course  you  remember  it — *  Portrait  of  a  Lady.'  He  became 
romantically  attached  to  the  second-fioor  lodger  ;  would  have 
no  noisy  parties  in  his  rooms,  or  smoking,  lest  it  should  annoy 
her.  Would  Mrs.  Firmin  desire  to  give  entertainments  of  her 
own  .-'  His  studio  and  sitting-room  were  at  her  orders.  He 
fetched  and  carried.  He  brought  presents,  and  theatre-boxes. 
He  was  her  slave  of  slaves.  And  she  gave  him  back  in  return 
for  all  this  romantic  adoration  a  condescending  shake  of  a  soft 
little  hand,  and  a  kind  look  from  a  pair  of  soft  eyes,  with  which 
the  painter  was  fain  to  be  content.  Low  of  stature,  and  of 
misshapen  form,  J.J.  thought  himself  naturally  outcast  from 
marriage  and  love,  and  looked  in  with  longing  eyes  at  the 
paradise  which  he  was  forbidden  to  enter.  And  Mr.  Philip 
sat  within  this  Palace  of  Delight ;  and  lolled  at  his  ease,  and 
took  his  pleasure,  and  Charlotte  ministered  to  him.  And  once 
in  a  way,  my  lord  sent  out  a  crumb  of  kindness,  or  a  little  cup 
of  comfort,  to  the  outcast  at  the  gate,  who  blessed  his  benefac- 
tress, and  my  lord  his  benefactor,  and  was  thankful.  Charlotte 
had  not  two-pence  :  but  she  had  a  little  court.  It  was  the 
fashion  for  Philip's  friends  to  come  and  bow  before  her.  Very 
fine  gentlemen  who  had  known  him  at  college,  and  forgot  him, 
or  sooth  to  say,  thought  him  rough  and  overbearing,  now  sud- 
denly remembered  him,  and  his  young  wife  had  quite  fashion- 
able assemblies  at  her  five  o'clock  tea-table.  All  men  liked  her, 
and  Miss  Sowerby  of  course  says  Mrs.  Firmin  was  a  good- 
natured,  quite  harmless  litrie  woman,  rather  pretty,  and — you 
know,  my  dear — such  as  men  like.  Look  you,  if  I  like  cold 
veal,  dear  Sowerby,  it  is  that  my  tastes  are  simple.     A  fine 


ON  HIS  IVAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


511 


tough  old  dry  camel,  no  doubt,  is  a  much  nobler  and  more 
sagacious  animal — and  perhaps  you  think  a  double  hump  is 
quite  a  delicacy. 

Yes  :  Mrs.  Philip  was  a  success.  She  had  scarce  any 
female  friends  as  yet,  being  too  poor  to  go  into  the  world  :  but 
she  had  Mrs.  Pendennis,  and  dear  little  Mrs.  Brandon,  and 
Mrs.  Mugford,  whose  celebrated  trap  repeatedly  brought  del- 
icacies for  the  bride  from  Hampstead,  whose  chaise  was  once 
or  twice  a  week  at  Philip's  door,  and  who  was  very  much  exer- 
cised and  impressed  by  the  fine  company  whom  she  met  in 
Mrs,,  Firmin's  apartments.  "  Lord  Thingambury's  card  !  what 
next,  Brandon,  upon  my  word  ?  Lady  Slowby  at  home  ?  well, 
I  never,  Mrs.  B. !  "  In  such  artless  phrases  Mrs.  Mugford 
would  express  her  admiration  and  astonishment  during  the  early 
time,  and  when  Charlotte  still  retained  the  good  lady's  favor. 
That  a  state  of  things  far  less  agreeable  ensued,  I  must  own. 
But  though  there  is  ever  so  small  a  cloud  in  the  sky  even  now, 
let  us  not  heed  it  for  a  while,  and  bask  and  be  content  and 
happy  in  the  sunshine.  "  Oh,  Laura,  I  tremble  when  I  think 
how  happy  I  am  ! '"  was  our  little  bird's  perpetual  warble. 
*'  How  did  I  live  when  I  was  at  home  with  mamma  ?  "  she  would 
say.  "  Do  you  know  that  Philip  never  scolds  me  ?  If  he  were 
to  say  a  rough  word  I  think  I  should  die  ;  whereas  mamma  was 
barking,  barking  from  morning  till  night,  and  I  didn't  care  a 
pin,"  This  is  what  comes  of  injudicious  scolding,  as  of  any  other 
drug.  The  wholesome  medicine  loses  its  effects.  The  inured 
patient  calmly  takes  a  dose  that  would  frighten  or  kill  a  stran- 
ger. Poor  Mrs.  Baynes'  crossed  letters  came  still,  and  I  am  not 
prepared  to  pledge  my  word  that  Charlotte  read  them  all.  Mrs. 
B.  oft'ered  to  come  and  superintend  and  take  care  of  dear  Philip 
when  an  enteresting  event  should  take  place.  But  Mrs.  Brandon 
was  already  engaged  for  this  important  occasion,  and  Charlotte 
became  so  alarmed  lest  her  mother  should  invade  her,  that 
Philip  wrote  curtly,  and  positively  forbade  Mrs.  Baynes.  You 
remember  the  picture  "■  A  Cradle  "  by  J.  J.  ?  the  two  little  rosy 
feet  brought  I  don't  know  how  many  hundred  guineas  apiece  to 
Mr.  Ridley.  The  mother  herself  did  not  study  babydom  more 
fondly  and  devotedly  than  Ridley  did  in  the  ways,  looks, 
features,  anatomies,  attitudes,  baby-clothes,  &c.,  of  this  first- 
born infant  of  Charlotte  and  Philip  Firmin.  My  wife  is  very 
angry  because  I  have  forgotten  whether  the  first  of  the  young 
Firmin  brood  was  a  boy  or  a  girl,  and  says  I  shall  forget  the 
names  of  my  own  children  next.  Well  ?  "  At  this  distance  of 
time,  1  think  it  was  a  bo}-, —  for  their  boy  is  very  tall,  you  kno\v 


512 


THE  AOrEXTUKES  OE  PHILTP 


— a  great  deal  taller Not  a  boy  ?  Then,  between  our- 
selves, I  have  no  doubt   it  was  a "     "  A  goose,"  says  the 

lady,  which  is  not  even  reasonable. 

Tills  is  certain,  we  all  thought  the  young  mother  looked 
very  pretty,  with  her  pink  cheeks  and  beaming  eyes,  as  she 
bent  over  the  little  infant.  J.  J.  says  he  thinks  there  is  some- 
thing heavenly  in  the  looks  of  young  mothers  at  that  time. 
Nay,  he  goes  so  far  as  to  declare  that  a  tigress  at  the  Zoological 
Gardens  looks  beautiful  and  gentle  as  she  bends  her  black 
nozzle  over  her  cubs.  And  if  a  tigress,  why  not  Mrs.  P'  ilip? 
O  ye  powers  of  sentiment,  in  what  a  state  J.  J.  was  about  this 
young  woman  !  There  is  a  brightness  in  a  young  mother's  eye  : 
there  are  pearl  and  rose  tints  on  her  cheek,  which  are  sure  to 
fascinate  a  painter.  This  artist  used  to  hang  about  Mrs.  Bran- 
don's rooms,  till  it  was  droll  to  see  him.  I  believe  he  took  off 
his  shoes  in  his  own  studio,  so  as  not  to  disturb  by  his  creaking 
the  lady  overhead.  He  purchased  the  most  preposterous  mug, 
and  other  presents  for  the  infant.  Philip  went  out  to  his  club 
or  his  newspaper  as  he  was  ordered  to  do.  But  Mr.  J.  J.  could 
not  be  got  away  from  Thornhaugh  Street,  so  that  little  Mrs. 
Brandon  laughed  at  liim  : — absolutely  laughed  at  him. 

During  all  this  while  Philip  and  his  wife  continued  in  the 
very  greatest  favor  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugford,  and  were  invited 
by  that  worthy  couple  to  go  with  their  infant  to  Mugford's  villa 
at  Hampstead,  where  a  change  of  air  might  do  good  to  dear 
baby  and  dear  mamma.  Philip  went  to  this  village  retreat. 
Streets  and  terraces  now  cover  over  the  house  and  grounds 
which  worthy  Mugford  inhabited,  and  which  people  say  he  used 
to  call  his  Russian  Irby.  He  had  amassed  in  a  small  space  a 
heap  of  country  pleasures.  He  had  a  little  garden  ;  a  little 
paddock;  a  little  green-house  ;  a  little  cucumber-frame  ;  a  little 
stable  for  his  little  trap  ;  a  little  Guernsey  cow  ;  a  little  dairy  ; 
a  little  pigsty ;  and  with  this  little  treasure  the  good  man  was 
not  a  little  content.  He  loved  and  praised  everything  that  was 
his.  No  man  admired  his  own  port  more  than  Mugford,  oi 
paid  more  compliments  to  his  own  butter  and  home-baked 
bread.  He  enjoyed  his  own  happiness.  He  appreciated  his 
own  worth.  He  loved  to  talk  of  the  days  when  he  was  a  poor 
boy  in  London  streets,  and  now — "  now  try  that  glass  of  port, 
my  boy,  and  say  whether  the  Lord  Mayor  has  got  any  better," 
he  would  say,  winking  at  his  glass  and  his  company.  To  be 
virtuous,  to  be  lucky,  and  constantly  to  think  and  own  that  you 
are  so — is  not  this  true  happiness?  To  sing,  hymns  in  praise  of 
himself  is  a  charming  amusement — at   least   to  the  performer; 


O.V  HIS  \VA  Y  THROUGH  THE   WORLD 


513 


and  anybody  who  dined  at  Mugford's  table  was  pretty  sure  to 
hear  some  of  this  music  after  dinner.  I  am  sorry  to  say  Philip 
did  not  care  for  this  trumpet-blowing-.  He  was  frightfully  bored 
at  Haverstock  Hill  ;  and  when  bored,  Mr.  Philip  is  not  alto- 
gether an  agreeable  companion.  He  will  yawn  in  a  man's  face, 
He  will  contradict  you  freely.  He  will  say  the  mutton  is  tough, 
or  the  wine  not  fit  to  drink  ;  that  such  and  such  an  orator  is 
overrated,  and  such  and  such  a  poHtician  is  a  fool.  Mugford 
and  his  guest  had  battles  after  dinner,  had  actually  high  words. 
"  What-hever  is  it,  Mugford  ?  and  wliat  were  you  quarrelling 
about  in  the  dining-room  .''  ''  asks  Mrs.  Mugford.  "  Quarrelling.'' 
It's  only  the  sub-editor  snoring,"  said  the  gentleman,  with  a 
flushed  face.  "  My  wine  ain't  good  enough  for  him  ;  and  now 
my  gentleman  must  put  his  boots  upon  a  chair  and  go  to  sleep 
under  my  nose.  He  is  a  cool  hand,  and  no  mistake,  Mrs.  M." 
At  this  juncture  poor  little  Char  would  gently  glide  down  from 
a  visit  to  her  baby  :  and  would  play  something  on  the  piano, 
and  soothe  the  rising  anger ;  and  thus  Philip  would  come  in 
from  a  little  walk  in  the  shrubberies,  where  he  had  been  blowing 
a  little  cloud.  Ah  !  there  was  a  little  cloud  rising  indeed  : — 
quite  a  little  one — nay,  not  so  little.  When  you  consider  that 
Philip's  bread  depended  on  the  good-will  of  these  people,  you 
will  allow  that  his  friends  might  be  anxious  regarding  the  future. 
A  word  from  Mugford,  and  Philip  and  Charlotte  and  the  child 
were  adrift  on  the  world.  And  these  points  Mr.  Firmin  would 
freely  admit,  while  he  stood  discoursing  of  his  own  affairs  (as 
he  loved  to  do),  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  back  warming 
at  our  fire. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  says  the  candid  bridegroom,  "  these 
things  are  constantly  in  my  head.  I  used  to  talk  about  'em 
to  Char,  but  I  don't  now.  They  disturb  her,  the  poor  thing ; 
and  she  clutches  hold  of  the  baby ;  and — and  it  tears  my  heart 
out  to  think  that  any  grief  should  come  to  her.  I  try  and  do 
my  best,  my  good  people — but  when  I'm  bored  I  can't  help 
showing  I'm  bored,  don't  you  see?  I  can't  be  a  hypocrite. 
No,  not  for  two  hundred  a  year,  or  for  twenty  thousand.  You 
can't  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  that  sow's-ear  of  a  Mugford.  A 
very  good  man.  I  don't  say  no.  A  good  father,  a  good  hus- 
band, a  generous  host,  and  a  most  tremendous  bore,  and  cad. 
Be  agreeable  to  him  ?  How  can  I  be  agreeable  when  I  am 
being  killed  ?  He  has  a  story  about  Leigh  Hunt  being  put 
into  Newgate,  where  Mugford,  bringing  him  proofs,  saw  Lord 
Byron.  I  cannot  keep  awake  during  that  story  any  longer  ;  or, 
if  awake,  I  grind  my  teeth,  and  swear  inwardly,  so  that  i  know 


SM 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


I'm  dreadful  to  hear  and  see.  Well,  Mugford  has  yellow  satin 
sofas  in  the  '  droaring-rooin  ' — '" 

"  Oh,  Philip  !  "  says  a  lady  ;  and  two  or  three  circumjacent 
children  set  up  an  insane  giggle,  which  is  speedily  and  sternly 
silenced. 

"  1  tell  you  she  calls  it  *  droaring-room.'  You  know  she 
does,  as  well  as  I  do.  She  is  a  good  woman  :  a  kind  woman  : 
a  hot-tempered  woman.  1  hear  her  scolding  the  servants  in 
the  kitchen  with  immense  vehemence,  and  at  prodigious  length. 
ViWX.  how  can  Char  frankly  be  the  friend  of  a  woman  who  calls 
a  drawing-room  a  droaring-room  ?  With  our  dear  little  friend 
in  Thornhaugh  Street,  it  is  different.  She  makes  no  pretence 
even  at  equality.  Here  is  a  patron  and  patroness,  don't  you 
see  ?  When  Mugford  walks  me  round  his  paddock  and  gar- 
dens, and  says,  '  Look  year,  Firmin  ; '  or  scratches  one  of  his 
pigs  on  the  back,  and  says,  '  We'll  'ave  a  cut  of  this  fellow  on 
Saturday '  " — (explosive  attempts  at  insubordination  and  de- 
rision on  the  part  of  the  children  again  are  severely  checked  by 
the  parental  authorities) — '' '  we'll  'ave  a  cut  of  this  fellow  on 
Saturday,'  I  felt  inclined  to  throw  him  or  myself  into  the  trough 
over  the  palings.  Do  you  know  that  that  man  put  that  hand 
into  his  pocket  and  offered  me  some  filberts .''  " 

Here  I  own  the  lady  to  whom  Philip  was  addressing  him- 
self turned  pale  and  shuddered. 

"  I  can  no  more  be  that  man's  friend  que  celui  du  domes- 
tique  qui  vient  d'apporter  le  what-d'you-calTem  ?  le  coal-scuttle  " 
— (John  entered  the  room  ^-ilh  that  useful  article  during  Philip's 
oration — and  we  allowed  the  elder  children  to  laugh  this  time, 
for  the  fact  is,  none  of  us  knew  the  French  for  coal  scuttle,  and 
I  will  wager  there  is  no  such  word  in  Chambaud).  "This 
holding  back  is  not  arrogance,"  Philip  went  on.  "This  reti- 
cence is  not  want  of  humility.  To  serve  that  man  honestly  is 
one  thing ;  to  make  friends  with  him,  to  laugh  at  his  dull 
jokes,  is  to  make  friends  with  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness, 
is  subserviency  and  hypocrisy  on  my  part.  I  ought  to  say  to 
him,  Mr.  Mugford,  I  will  give  you  my  work  for  your  wage;  I 
will  compile  your  paper,  I  will  produce  an  agreeable  miscel- 
lany containing  proper  proportions  of  news,  politics,  and  scan- 
dal, put  titles  to  your  paragraphs,  see  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette 
ship-shape  through  the  press,  and  go  home  to  my  wife  and 
dinner.  You  are  my  employer,  but  you  are  not  my  friend,  and 
bless  my  soul  !  there  is  five  o'clock  striking  !  "  (The  time- 
piece in  our  drawing-room  gave  that  announcement  as  he  was 
speaking.^     "  We   have    what    Mugford  calls  d,  *iiite-choker 


MTTGFORD  S    FAVORITE. 


ON  HTS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


S^S 


dinner  to-day,  in  honor  of  tlie  pig !  "  And  with  this  Philip 
pkniges  out  of  the  house,  and  I  hoped  reached  Hampstead  in 
time  for  the  entertainment. 

Philip's  friends  in  Westminster  felt  no  little  doubt  about 
his  prospects,  and  the  Little  Sister  shared  their  alarm.  "  They 
are  not  tit  to  be  with  those  folks,"  Mrs.  Brandon  said,  "  though 
as  for  Mrs.  Philip,  dear  thing,  I  am  sure  nobody  can  ever 
quarrel  with  her.  With  me  it's  different.  I  never  had  no  edu- 
cation, you  know — no  more  than  the  Mugfords,  but  I  don't  like 
to  see  my  Philip  sittin'  down  as  if  he  was  the  guest  and  equal 
of  that  fellar."  Nor  indeed  did  it  ever  enter  "  that  fellar's  "  head 
that  Mr.  Frederick  Mugford  could  be  Mr.  Philip  Firmin's  equal. 
With  our  knowledge  of  the  two  men,  then  we  all  dismally  looked 
forward  to  a  rupture  between  Firmin  and  his  patron. 

As  for  the  New  York  journal,  we  were  more  easy  \n  respect 
to  Philip's  success  in  that  quarter.  Several  of  his  friends  made 
a  vow  to  help  him.  We  clubbed  club-stories  ;  we  begged  from 
our  polite  friends  anecdotes  (that  would  bear  sea-transport)  of 
the  fashionable  world.  We.happened  to  overhear  the  most  re- 
markable conversations  between  the  most  influential  public 
characters  who  had  no  secrets  from  us.  We  had  astonishing 
intelligence  at  most  European  courts ;  exclusive  reports  of  the 
tLmperor  of  Russia's  last  joke — his  last  ?  his  next,  very  likely. 
We  knew  the  most  secret  designs  of  the  Austrian  Privy  Coun- 
cill  ;  the  views  which  the  Pope  had  in  his  eye  ;  who  was  the 
latest  favorite  of  the  Grand  Turk,  and  so  on.  The  upper  Ten 
Thousand  at  New  York  were  supplied  with  a  quantity  of  infor- 
mation which  I  trust  profited  them.  It  was  "  Palmerston  re- 
marked yesterday  at  dinner,"  or,  "  The  good  old  Duke  said 
last  night  at  Aspley  House  to  the  French  Ambassador,"  and 
the  rest.  The  letters  were  signed  "  Philalethes ;"  and,  as  no- 
body was  wounded  by  the  shafts  of  our  long  bow,  I  trust  Mr. 
Philip  and  his  friends  may  be  pardoned  for  twanging  it.  By 
information  procured  from  learned  female  personages,  we  even 
managed  to  give  accounts,  more  or  less  correct,  of  the  latest 
ladies'  fashions.  We  were  members  of  all  the  clubs  ;  we  were 
present  at  the  routs  and  assemblies  of  the  political  leaders  of 
both  sides.  U'e  had  little  doubt  that  Philalethes  would  be 
successful,  at  New  York,  and  looked  forward  to  an  increased 
payment  for  his  labors.  At  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  Philip 
Firmin's  married  life,  we  made  a  calculation  by  which  it  was 
clear  that  he  had  actually  saved  money.  His  exjDenses,  to  be 
sure,  were  increased.  There  was  a  baby  in  the  nursery' :  but 
there  was  a  little  bag  of  sovereigns  in  tlie  cupboard,  and  the 
thrift)"  young  fellow  hoped  to  add  still  more  to  his  store. 


5i6  THE  ADVEXTCRES  OE  PHTIJP 

We  were  relieved  at  finding  that  Firmin  and  his  wife  were 
not  invited  to  repeat  their  visit  to  their  employer's  house  at 
Hampstead.  An  occasional  invitation  to  dinner  was  still  sent 
to  the  young  people  ;  but  Mugford,  a  haughty  man  in  his  way, 
with  a  proper  spirit  of  his  own,  had  the  good  sense  to  see  that 
much  intimacy  could  not  arise  between  him  and  his  sub-editor, 
and  magnanimously  declined  to  be  angry  at  the  young  fellow's 
easy  superciliousness.  I  think  that  indefatigable  Little  Sister 
was  the  peacemaker  between  the  houses  of  Mugford  and  Fir- 
min junior,  and  that  she  kept  both  Philip  and  his  master  on 
their  good  behavior.  At  all  events,  and  when  a  quarrel  did 
arise  between  them,  I  grieve  to  have  to  own  it  was  poor  Philip 
who  was  in  the  wrong. 

You  know  in  the  old,  old  days  the  young  king  and  queen 
never  gave  any  christening  entertainment  without  neglecting  to 
invite  some  old  fairy,  who  was  furious  at  the  omission.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  Charlotte's  mother  was  so  angry  at  not  being  ap- 
pointed godmother  to  the  new  baby,  that  she  omitted  to  make 
her  little  quarterly  payment  of  is/.  \os.  ;  and  has  altogether 
discontinued  that  payment  from  that  remote  period  up  to  the 
present  time  ;  so  that  Philip  says  his  wife  has  brought  him  a 
fortune  of  35/.,  paid  in  three  instalments.  There  was  the  first 
quarter  paid  when  the  old  lady  "  would  not  be  beholden  to  a 
man  like  him."     Then  there  came  a  second  quarter — and  then 

but    I  dare  say  1  shall   be  able  to  tell   when   and   how 

Philip's  mamma-in-law  paid  the  rest  of  her  poor  little  daugh- 
ter's fortune. 

Well,  Regent's  Park  is  a  fine  healthy  place  for  infantine 
diversion,  and  I  don't  think  Philip  at  all  demeaned  himself  in 
walking  there  with  his  wife,  her  little  maid,  and  his  baby  on 
his  arm.  "  He  is  as  rude  as  a  bear,  and  his  manners  are 
dreadful ;  but  he  has  a  good  heart,  that  I  will  say  for  him," 
Mugford  said  to  me.  In  his  drive  from  London  to  Hampstead 
Mugford  once  or  twice  met  the  little  family  group,  of  which  his 
sub-editor  formed  the  principal  figure  ;  and  for  the  sake  of 
Philip's  young  wife  and  child  Mr.  AL  pardoned  the  young  man's 
vulgarity,  and  treated  him  with  long-suffering. 

Poor  as  he  was,  this  was  his  happiest  time,  my  friend  is 
disposed  to  think.  A  young  child,  a  young  wife,  whose  whole 
life  was  a  tender  caress  of  love  for  child  and  husband,  a  young 
husband  watching  both  : — I  recall  the  group,  as  we  used  often 
to  see  it  in  those  days,  and  see  a  something  sacred  in  the 
homely  figures.  On  the  wife's  bright  face  what  a  radiant  hap- 
piness there  is,  and  what  a  rapturous  smile!     Over  the  sleep 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  517 

ing  infant  and   the  happy  mother  tiie  father  looks  with   pride 
and  thanks  in  his  eyes.     Happiness  and  gratitude  fill  his  sim- 
ple heart,  and  prayer  involuntary  to  the  (liver  of  good,  that  he 
may  have  strength  to  do  his  duty  as  father,  husband  ;  that  he 
may  be  enabled  to  keep  want  and  care  from   those  dear  inno- 
cent beings  ;  that   he   may  defend  them,  befriend   them,  leave 
them  a  good   name.     I  am  bound  to   say  that   Philip  became 
thriftv  and  saving  for  the  sake  of  Char  and  the  child  ;  that  he 
came"  home  early  of  nights  ;  that  he  thought  his  child  a  wojxler  ; 
that  he  never  tired  of  speaking  about  that  infant  in  our  house, 
about  its  fatness,  its  strength,  its   weight,  its   wonderful  early 
talents  and  humor.     He  felt  himself  a  man  now  for  the   first 
time,  he   said.     Life  had  been  play  and  folly  until  now.     And 
now  especially  he  regretted   that  he  had  been  idle,  and  had 
neglected  his  opportunities  as  a  lad.     Had  he  studied  for  the 
bar,  he  might  have  made  that  profession  now  profitable,  and  a 
source  of  honor  and  competence  to  his  family.     Our  friend 
estimated  his  own  powers  very  humbly  :  I  am  sure  he  was  not 
the  less  aniable  on  account  of  that  humility.     O  fortunate  he, 
of  whom  Love  is  the  teacher,  the  guide  and  master,  the  reform- 
er and  chastener  !     Where  was  our  friend's  former  arrogance, 
self-confidence,  and  boisterous  profusion  ?     He  was  at  the  feet  of 
his  wife  and  child.     He  was  quite   humbled   about  himself ;  or 
gratified  himself  in  fondling  and  caressing  these.     They  taught 
him,  he  said  ;  and  as  he  thought  of  them,  his  heart  turned  in  awful 
thanks  to  the  gracious  heaven  which  had  given  them  to  him. 
As  the  tiny  infant  hand  closes  round  his  fingers,  I  can  see  the 
father  bending  over  mother  and  child,  and  interpret  those  maybe 
unspoken  blessings  which  he  asks  and  bestows.     Happy  wife, 
happy  husband  !     However  poor  his  little  home  may  be,  it  holds 
treasures  and  wealth  inestimable  ;  whatever  storms  may  threaten 
without,  the  home  fireside  is  brightened  with  the  welcome  of  the 
dearest  eyes. 


5^8 


TJIE  ADVENTURES  OF  PJIILIl' 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

IN   WHICH    I    OWN    THAT   PHILLIP   TELLS   AN    UNTRUTH. 

Charlotte  (and  the  usual  little  procession  of  nurse,  baby, 
&c.)  once  made  their  appearance  at  our  house  in  Queen  Square, 
where  they  were  ever  welcomed  by  the  lady  of  the  mansion. 
The  young  woman  was  in  a  great  state  of  elation,  and  when  we 
came  to  hear  the  cause  of  her  delight,  her  friends  too  opened 
the  eyes  of  wonder.  She  actually  announced  that  Dr.  Firmin 
had  sent  over  a  bill  of  forty  pounds  (I  may  be  incorrect  as  to 
the  sum)  from  New  York.  It  had  arrived  that  morning,  and 
she  had  seen  the  bill,  and  Philip  had  told  her  that  his  father 
had  sent  it ;  and  was  it  not  a  comfort  to  think  that  poor  Doctor 
Firmin  was  endeavoring  to  repair  some  of  the  evil  which  he 
had  done  ;  and  that  he  was  repenting,  and,  perhaps,  was  going 
to  become  quite  honest  and  good  ?  This  was  indeed  an  astound- 
ing piece  of  intelligence  :  and  the  two  women  felt  joy  at  the 
thought  of  that  sinner  repenting,  and  some  one  else  was  accused 
of  cynicism,  skepticism,  and  so  forth,  for  doubting  the  correct- 
ness of  the  information.  "  You  believe  in  no  one,  sir.  You 
are  always  incredulous  about  good,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c.,  was  the  accu- 
sation brought  against  the  reader's  very  humble  servant.  Well, 
about  the  contrition  of  this  sinner,  I  confess  I  still  continued 
to  have  doubts ;  and  thought  a  present  of  forty  pounds  to  a 
son,  to  whom  he  owed  thousands,  was  no  great  proof  of  the 
doctor's  amendment. 

And  oh  !  how  vexed  some  people  were  when  the  real  story 
came  out  at  last !  Not  for  the  money's  sake — not  because  they 
were  wrong  in  argument,  and  I  turned  out  to  be  right.  Oh,  no  ! 
But  because  it  was  proved  that  this  unhappy  doctor  liad  no 
present  intention  of  repenting  at  all.  This  brand  would  not 
come  out  of  the  burning,  whatever  we  might  hope ;  and  the 
doctor's  supporters  were  obliged  to  admit  as  much  when  they 
came  to  know  the  real  story.  "  Oh,  Philip,"  cries  Mrs.  Laura, 
when  next  she  saw  Mr.  Firmin.  "  How  pleased  I  was  to  hear 
of  that  letter !  " 

"  What  letter  ?  "  asks  the  gentleman. 

"  That  letter  from  your  father  at  New  York,"  says  the  lady.^ 

"Oh,"  says  the  gentleman  addressed,  with  a  red  face 


ON  II/S  IVAV  THROUGH  lUE  WORLD.  51^ 

**  What  then  ?     Is  it  not — is  it  not  all  true  ?  "  we  ask. 

"  Poor  Charlotte  does  not  understand  about  business," 
says  Philip  ;  "  I  did  not  read  the  letter  to  her.  Here  it  is." 
And  he  hands  over  the  document  to  me,  and  I  have  the  liberty 
to  publish  it. 


New  York  ■ 


"  And  so,  my  dear  Philip,  I  may  congratulate  myself  on  having  achieved  ancestral 
honor,  and  may  add  grandfather  to  my  titles  ?  How  quickly  this  one  has  come  !  I  feel 
myself  a  young  man  still,  /«  spite  of  the  blows  of  misfortune — at  least  I  know  I  was  a  young 
man  but  yesterday,  when  I  may  say  with  our  dear  old  poet,  Non  sine  gloria  niilitavi. 
Suppose  I  too  were  to  tire  of  solitary  widowhood  and  re-enter  the  married  state  ?  There  are 
one  or  two  ladies  here  who  would  still  condescend  to  look  not  unfavorably  on  the  retired 
English  geiitleman.  Without  vanity  I  may  say  it,  :i  man  of  birth  and  position  in  England 
acquires  a  polish  and  refinement  of  manner  which  dollars  cannot  purchase,  and  many  a  IVall 
Street  millionary  might  envy ! 

"  Your  wife  has  been  pronounced  to  be  an  angel  by  a  little  correspondent  of  mine,  who 
gives  me  much  fuller  intelligence  of  my  family  than  my  son  condescends  to  furnish.  Mrs. 
Philip  I  hear  is  gentle  ;  Mrs.  Brandon  says  she  is  beautiful,— she  is  all  good-humored.  I 
hope  you  have  taught  her  to  think  not  very  badly  of  her  husband's  father?  I  was  the  dupe 
of  villains  who  lured  me  into  their  schemes  ;  who  robbed  me  of  a  life's  earnings  ;  who 
induced  me  by  \\\eAr  false  representations  to  have  such  confidence  in  them,  that  I  embarked 
all  mv  property,  and  yours,  my  poor  boy,  alas!  in  their  undertakings.  Your  Charlotte  will 
take  the  liberal,  the  wise,  the  jtist  view  of  the  case,  and  pity  rather  than  blame  my  misfor- 
tune. Such  is  the  view,  I  am  happy  to  say,  generally  adopted  in  this  city  :  where  there  are 
men  of  the  world  who  know  the  vicissitudes  of  a  mercantile  career,  and  can  make  allowances 
for  misfortune.  What  made  Rome  at  first  great  and  prosperous?  Were  its  first  colonists 
all  wealthy  patricians  ?  Nothing  can  be  more  satisfactory  than  the  disregard  shown  here  to 
mere  pecuniary  difficulty.  At  the  same  time  to  be  a  gentleman  is  to  possess  no  trifling 
privilege  in  this  society,  where  the  advantages  of  birth,  respected  name,  and  early  education 
(2/«/«)',r  tell  in  the  possessor's  favor.  Many  persons  whom  I  visit  here  have  certainly  not 
these  advantages-  -and  in  the  highest  society  of  the  city  I  could  point  out  individuals  who 
have  had  pecuniary  mlsfoi  tunes  like  myself,  who  have  gallantly  renewed  the  combat  after 
their  fall,  and  are  now  fully  restored  to  competence,  to  wealth,  and  the  respect  of  the  world ! 
I  was  in  a  house  in  Fifth  Avenue  last  night.  Is  Washington  White  shunned  by  his  fellow- 
men  because  he  has  been  a  bankrupt  three  times?  Anything  more  elegant  or  profuse  than 
his  entertainment  I  have  not  witnessed  oh  this  continent.  His  lady  had  diamonds  which  a 
duchess  might  envy.  The  most  costly  wines,  the  most  magnificent  supper,  and  myriads  of 
canvas-backed  ducks  covered  his  board.  Dear  Charlotte,  my  friend  Captain  Clopoys 
brings  you  over  three  brace  of  these  from  vour  father-in-law,  who  hopes  they  will  furnish 
your  little  dinner-table.  We  eat  currant  jelly  with  them  here,  but  I  like  an  old  English 
lemon  and  cayenne  sauce  better. 

"  By  the  way,  dear  Philip,  I  trust  vou  will  not  be  inconvenienced  by  a  little  financial 
operation,  which  necessitv  (alas!)  has  comj^elled  me  to  perform-  Knowing  that  your  quar- 
ter witli  tlie  Upper  Ten  Thousand  Gazette  was  now  due,  I  have  made  so  bold  as  to  request 

Colonel to  pay  it  over  to  me.     Promises  to  pay  must  be  met  here  as  with  us — an  ob-- 

durate  holder  of  an  unlucky  acceptance  of  mine  (I  am  happy  tosay  there  are  very  few  such) 
would  admit  of  no  delay,  and  T  have  been  compelled  to  appropriate  my  poor  Pliilip's  earn- 
ings. I  have  only  put  you  off  for  ninetv  days  :  with  your  credit  and  wealthy  friends  you  can 
easily  negotiate  the  bill  etvrlosed,  and  \  promise  you  that  when  presented  it  shall  be  honored 
by  my  Philip's  ever  affectionate  father,  G.  B.  F. 

"  By  the  way,  your  Philalethes'  letters  are  not  qitite  spicy  enough,  my  worthy  friend  the 
colonel  says.  They  are  elegant  and  gay,  but  the  public  here  desires  to  have  more  personal 
news:  s.  little  scatidal  about  Queen  Elizabeth,  yaw  understand?  Can't  you  attack  some- 
bodv?  Look  at  the  letters  and  articles  published  by  my  respected  friend  of  the  Xew  York 
Emerald!  The  readers  here  like  a  high-spiced  article  :  and  I  r  commend  P.  F.  to  put  a 
little  more  pepper  in  his  dishes.  What  a  comfort  to  me  it  is  to  think  that  I  have  procured 
this  place  for  you,  and  have  been  enabled  to  help  my  son  and  his  young  family! 

"  G.  B-   F. 

Enclosed  in  this  letter  was  a  slip  of  paper  which  poor  Philip 
supposed  to  be  a  cheque  when  he  first  beheld  it,  but  which 


^20  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

turned  out  to  be  his  papa's  promissory  note,  payable  at  Nni* 
York  four  months  after  date.  And  this  document  was  to  reprr;- 
sent  the  money  which  the  elder  Firinin  had  received  in  his  son'^ 
name  !  Philip's  eyes  met  his  friend's  when  they  talked  about 
this  matter.  Firmin  looked  almost  as  much  ashamed  as  if  he 
himself  had  done  the  wrong. 

"  Does  the  loss  of  this  money  annoy  you  ?  "  asked  Philip's 
friend. 

"  The  manner  of  the  loss  does,"  said  poor  Philip.  "  I  don't 
care  about  the  money.  But  he  should  not  have  taken  this.  He 
should  not  have  taken  this.  Think  of  poor  Charlotte  and  the 
child  being  in  want  possibly  !  Oh,  friend,  it  s  hard  to  bear, 
isn't  it  ?  I'm  an  honest  fellow,  ain't  T  ?  I  think  I  am.  I  pray 
heaven  T  am.  In  any  extremity  of  poverty  could  I  have  done 
this  ?  It  was  my  father  who  introduced  me  to  these  people.  I 
suppose  he  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  my  earnings  :  and  if  he  is 
in  want,  you  know,  so  he  has." 

"  Had  you  not  better  write  to  the  New  York  publishers  and 
beg  them  henceforth  to  remit  to  you  directly  ? "  asks  Philip's 
friend. 

"  That  would  be  to  tell  them  that  he  has  disposed  of  the 
money,"  groans  Philip.  "  I  can't  tell  them  that  mv  father  is 
a " 

"No;  but  you  can  thank  them  for  having  handed  over  such 
a  sum  on  your  account  to  the  doctor  :  and  warn  them  that  you 
will  draw  on  them  from  this  country  henceforth.  They  won't 
in  this  case  pay  the  ne.xt  quarter  to  the  doctor." 

"Suppose  he  is  in  want,  ought  I  not  to  supply  him?" 
Firmin  said.  "  As  long  as  there  are  four  crusts  in  the  house, 
the  doctor  ought  to  have  one.  Ought  I  to  be  angry  with  him 
for  helping  himself,  old  boy?"  and  he  drinks  a  glass  of  wine, 
poor  fellow,  with  a  rueful  smile.  By  the  way,  it  is  my  duty  to 
mention  here,  that  the  elder  Firmin  was  in  the  habit  of  giving 
very  elegant  little  dinner-parties  at  New  York,  where  little 
dinner-parties  are  much  more  costly  than  in  Europe — ''  in  order," 
he  said,  "  to  establish  and  keep  up  his  connection  as  a  physi- 
cian." As  a  bon-vivant,  I  am  informed,  the  doctor  began  to  be 
celebrated  in  his  new  dwelling-place,  where  his  anecdotes  of  the 
British  aristocracy  were  received  with  pleasure  in  certain 
circles. 

But  it  would  be  as  well  henceforth  that  Philip  sliould  deal 
directly  with  his  American  correspondents,  and  not  employ  the 
services  of  so  very  expensi\'e  a  broker.  To  this  suggestion  he 
could  not  but  agree.     Meanwhile, — and   let   this  be  a  warning 


OK  ins  ]VAY  TJfJiOrC/f  Til  J:    WORLD.  52 1 

to  men  never  to  deceive  their  wives  in  any  the  sHghtest  circum- 
stances ;  to  tell  them  everything  they  wish  to  know,  to  keep 
nothing  hidden  from  those  dear  and  excellent  beings — you 
must  know,  ladies,  that  when  I'hilip's  famous  ship  of  dollars 
arrived  from  America,  Firmin  had  promised  his  wife  that  baby 
should  have  a  dear  delightful  white  cloak  trimmed  with  the 
most  lovely  tape,  on  which  poor  Charlotte  had  often  cast  a 
longing  eye  as  she  passed  by  the  milliner  and  curiosity  shops  in 
Hanway  Yard,  which,  I  own,  she  loved  to  frequent.  Well  : 
when  Philip  told  her  that  his  father  had  sent  home  forty  pounds, 
or  what  not,  thereby  deceiving  his  fond  wife,  the  little  lady  went 
away  straight  to  her  darling  shop  in  the  Yard — (Hanway  Yard 
has  become  a  street  now,  but  ah  !  it  is  always  delightful ) — Char- 
lotte, I  say,  went  off,  ran  off  to  Hanway  Yard,  pavid  with  fear 
lest  the  darling  cloak  should  be  gone,  found  it — oh,  joy  ! — still 
in  Miss  Isaacson's  window  ;  put  it  on  baby  straightway  then 
and  there  ;  kissed  the  dear  infant,  and  was  delighted  with  the 
effect  of  the  garment,  which  all  the  young  ladies  at  Miss  Isaac- 
son's pronounced  to  be  perfect ;  and  took  the  cloak  away  on 
baby's  shoulders,  promising  to  send  the  money,  five  pounds,  if 
you  please,  next  day.  And  in  this  cloak  baby  and  Charlotte 
went  to  meet  papa  when  he  came  home  ;  and  I  clon't  know  which 
of  them,  mamma  or  baby,  was  the  most  pleased  and  absurd  and 
happy  baby  of  the  two.  ( )n  his  way  home  from  his  newspaper, 
Mr.  Philip  had  orders  to  pursue  a  certain  line  of  streets,  and 
when  his  accustomed  hour  for  returning  from  his  business  drew 
nigh,  Mrs.  Char  went  down  Thornhaugh  Street,  down  Rathbone 
Place,  with  Betsy  the  nursekin  and  baby  in  the  new  cloak. 
Behold,  he  comes  at  last — papa — striding  down  the  street.  He 
sees  the  figures  :  he  sees  the  child,  which  laughs,  and  holds  out 
its  little  pink  hands,  and  crows  a  recognition.  And  "Look — • 
look,  papa,"  cries  the  happy  mother.  (Away  !  I  cannot  keep 
up  the  myster}'  about  the  baby  any  longer,  and  though  I  had 
forgotten  for  a  moment  the  child's  sex,  remembered  it  the  in- 
stant after,  and  that  it  was  a  girl  to  be  sure,  and  that  its  name 
was  Laura  Caroline.)  "  Look,  look,  papa  !  "  cries  the  happy 
mother.  "  She  has  got  another  little  tooth  since  the  morning, 
such  a  beautiful  little  tooth — and  look  here,  sir,  don't  you 
observe  anything  ?  " 

"  Any  what  1  "  asks  Philip. 

"La!  sir,"  says  Betsy,  giving  Laura  Caroline  a  great  toss, 
so  that  her  white  cloak  floats  in  the  air. 

"  Isn't  it  a  dear  cloak  ? "  cries  mamma  ;  "  and  doesn't  baby 
look  like  an  angel  in  it  ?     I  bought  it  at  Miss  Isaacson's  to-day 


522 


THE  ADl'EiVrURES  OF  PHILIP 


as  you  got  your  money  from  New  York  ;  and  oh,  my  dear,  k 
only  cost  five  guineas." 

"  Well,  it's  a  week's  work,"  sighs  poor  Philip  ;  "  and  1  think 
I  need  not  grudge  that  to  give  Charlotte  pleasure."  And  he 
feels  his  empty  pockets  rather  ruefully. 

"  God  bless  you,  Philip,"  says  my  wife,  with  her  eyes  full. 
■'  They  came  here  this  morning,  Charlotte  and  the  nurse  and 
the  baby  in  the  new — the  new — "  Here  the  lady  seized  hold 
of  Philip's  hand,  and  fairly  broke  out  into  tears.  Had  she 
embraced  Mr.  Firmin  before  her  husband's  own  eyes,  I  should 
not  have  been  surprised.  Indeed  she  confessed  that  she  was 
on  the  point  of  giving  way  to   this  most   sentimental  outbreak. 

And  now,  my  brethren,  see  how  one  crime  is  the  parent  of 
many,  and  one  act  of  duplicity  leads  to  a  whole  career  of 
deceit.  In  the  first  place,  you  see,  Philip  had  deceived  his 
wife — with  the  pious  desire,  it  is  true,  of  screening  his  father's 
little  peculiarities — but,  mat  caelum,  we  must  tell  no  lies.  No  : 
and  from  this  day  forth  I  order  John  never  to  say  Not  at  home 
to  the  greatest  bore,  dun,  dawdle  of  my  acquaintance.  If 
Philip's  father  had  not  deceived  him,  Philip  would  not  have 
deceived  his  wife  ;  if  he  had  not  deceived  his  wife,  she  would 
not  have  given  five  guineas  for  that  cloak  for  the  baby.  If  she 
had  not  given  fi\-e  guineas  for  the  cloak,  my  wife  would  never 
have  entered  into  a  secret  correspondence  with  Mr.  Firmin, 
which  might,  but  for  my  own  sweetness  of  temper,  ha\  e  bred 
jealousy,  mistrust,  and  the  most  awful  quarrels — nay,  duels — 
between  the  heads  of  the  two  families.  Fancy  Philip's  body 
lying  stark  upon  Hampstead  Heath  with  a  bullet  through  it, 
despatched  by  the  hand  of  his  friend  !  Fancy  a  cab  driving  up 
to  my  own  house,  and  from  it — under  the  eyes  of  the  children 
at  the  parlor  windows — their  father's  bleeding  corpse  ejected  ! 

P^nough  of  this  dreadful  pleasantry  !     Two  days  after  the 

affair  of  the  cloak,  1  found  a  letter  in  Philip's  handwriting 
addressed  to  my  wife,  and  thinking  that  the  note  had  reference 
to  a  matter  of  dinner  then  pending  between  our  families,  I 
broke  the  envelope  and  read  as  follows ! — 

"  Thornhaugh  Street,  Thursday. 
"My  DEAR,  KIND  GoDMAMMA, — As  soon  as  ever  I  can  write  and  speak,  I  will  thank  you 
for  being  so  kind  to  me.  My  mamma  says  she  is  very  jealous,  and  as  she  bought  my  cloak 
fhe  can't  tliink  of  allovvini;  you  to  pay  for  it.  But  she  desires  me  never  to  forget  your  kind* 
ness  to  us,  and  though  I  don't  know  anything  about  it  now,  she  promises  to  tell  me  when  I 
am  old  enough.     Meanwhile  I  am  your  grateful  and  affectionate  little  goddaughter. 

"  L.  C.   F." 

Philip  was  persuaded  by  his  friends  at  home  to  send  out  the 
request  to  his  New  York  employers  to  pay  his  salary  henceforth 


ON  HIS  WAY  TUkOCGII  THE   WORLD,  523 

to  himself ;  and  1  remember  a  dignified  letter  came  from  his 
parent,  in  which  the  matter  was  spoken  of  in  sorrow  rather 
than  in  anger  ;  in  which  the  doctor  pointed  out  that  this  pre- 
cautionary measure  seemed  to  imply  a  doubt  on  Philip's  side  of 
his  father's  honor  ;  and  surely,  surely,  he  was  unhappy  enough 
and  unfortunate  enough  already  without  meriting  this  mistrust 
from  his  son.  The  duty  of  a  son  to  honor  his  father  and 
mother  was  feelingly  pointed  out,  and  the  doctor  meekly  trusted 
that  Philip's  children  would  give  ///;;/  more  confidence  than  he 
seemed  to  be  inclined  to  award  to  his  unfortunate  father. 
Never  mind.  He  should  bear  no  malice.  If  Fortune  ever 
smiled  on  him  again,  and  something  told  him  she  would,  he 
would  show  Philip  that  he  could  forgive  ;  although  he  might 
not  be  able  to  forget  that  in  his  exile,  his  solitude,  his  declining 
years,  his  misfortune,  his  own  child  had  mistrusted  him.  This 
he  said  was  the  most  cruel  blow  of  all  for  his  susceptible  heart 
to  bear. 

This  letter  of  paternal  remonstrance  was  enclosed  in  one 
from  the  doctor  to  his  old  friend  the  Little  Sister,  in  which  he 
vaunted  a  discovery  which  he  and  some  other  scientific  gentle- 
men were  engaged  in  perfecting — of  a  medicine  which  was  to 
be  extraordinarily  efficacious  in  cases  in  which  Mrs.  Brandon 
herself  was  often  specially  and  professionally  engaged,  and  he 
felt  sure  that  the  sale  of  this  medicine  would  go  far  to  retrieve 
his  shattered  fortune.  He  pointed  out  the  complaints  in  which 
this  medicine  was  most  efficacious.  He  would  send  some  of  it, 
and  details  regarding  its  use,  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  who  might  try 
its  efficacy  upon  her  patients.  He  was  advancing  slowly,  but 
steadily,  in  his  medical  profession,  he  said  ;  though  of  course, 
he  had  to  suffer  from  the  jealousy  of  his  professional  brethren. 
Never  mind.  Better  times,  he  was  sure,  were  in  store  for  all ; 
when  his  son  should  see  that  a  wretched  matter  of  forty  pounds 
more  should  not  deter  him  from  paying  all  just  claims  upon 
him.  Amen  !  We  all  heartily  wished  for  the  day  when  Philip's 
father  should  be  able  to  settle  his  little  accounts.  Meanwhile, 
the  proprietors  of  the  Gazette  of  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  were 
instructed  to  write  directly  to  their  London  correspondent. 

Although  Mr.  Firmin  prided  himself,  as  we  have  seen,  upon 
his  taste  and  dexterity  as  sub-editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
I  must  own  that  he  was  a  very  insubordinate  ofiicer,  with  whom 
his  superiors  often  had  cause  to  be  angry.  Certain  people 
were  praised  in  the  Gazette — certain  others  were  attacked. 
Very  dull  books  were  admired,  and  very  lively  works  attacked. 
Some  men  were  praised  for  everything  they  did  ;  some  others 


S24 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILTP 


were  satirized,  no  matter  what  their  works  were.  "  I  find,"  pool 
PhiUp  used  to  say  with  a  groan,  "  that  in  matters  of  criticism 
especially  there  are  so  often  private  reasons  for  the  praise  and 
the  blame  administered,  that  I  am  glad,  for  my  part,  my  only 
duty  is  to  see  the  paper  through  the  press.  For  instance,  there 
is  Harrocks,  the  tragedian,  of  Drury  Lane  :  every  piece  in  which 
lie  appears  is  a  masterpiece,  and  his  performance  the  greatest 
triumph  ever  witnessed.  Very  good.  Harrocks  and  my  ex- 
cellent employer  are  good  friends,  and  dine  with  each  other ; 
and  it  is  natural  that  Mugford  should  like  to  have  his  friend 
praised,  and  to  help  him  in  every  way.  But  Balderson,  of 
Covent  Garden,  is  also  a  very  fine  actor.  Why  can't  our  critic 
see  his  merit  as  well  as  Harrocks'  ?  Poor  Balderson  is  never 
allowed  any  merit  at  all.  He  is  passed  over  with  a  sneer,  or  a 
curt  word  of  cold  commendation,  while  columns  of  flattery  are 
not  enough  for  his  rival." 

"  Why,  Mr.  F,  what  a  flat  you  must  be,  askin'  your  pardon,'' 
remarked  Mugford,  in  reply  to  his  sub-editor's  simple  remon- 
strance. "  How  can  we  praise  Balderson,  when  Harrocks  is 
our  friend  ?  Me  and  Harrocks  are  thick.  Our  wives  are  close 
friends.  If  I  was  to  let  Balderson  be  praised,  I  should  drive 
Harrocks  mad.  I  cati't  praise  Balderson,  don't  you  see,  out  of 
justice  to  Harrocks  !  " 

Then  there  was  a  certain  author  whom  Bickerton  was  for 
ever  attacking.  They  had  had  a  private  quarrel,  and  Bickerton 
revenged  himself  in  this  way.  In  reply  to  Philip's  outcries  and 
remonstrances,  Mr.  Mugford  only  laughed  :  "The  two  men  are 
enemies,  and  Bickerton  hits  him  whenever  he  can.  Why,  that's 
only  human  nature,  Mr.  F.,"  says  Philip's  employer. 

"  Great  heavens  !  "  bawls  out  Firmin,  "  do  you  mean  to  say 
that  the  man  is  base  enough  to  strike  at  his  private  enemies 
through  the  press  ?  " 

"  Private  enemies  !  private  gammon,  Mr.  Firmin  !  "  cries 
Philip's  employer.  "If  I  have  enemies — and  I  have,  there's 
no  doubt  about  that — I  serve  them  out  whenever  and  wherevci 
I  can.  And  let  me  tell  you  I  don't  half  relish  having  my  con- 
duct called  base.  It's  only  natural  ;  and  it's  right.  Perhaps 
you  would  like  to  praise  your  enemies,  and  abuse  your  friend  "i 
If  that's  your  line,  let  me  tell  you  you  won't  do  in  the  noos- 
paper  business,  and  had  better  take  to  some  other  trade."  And 
the  employer  parted  from  his  subordinate  in  some  heat. 

Mugford,  indeed,  feelingly  spoke  to  me  about  this  insubor- 
dination of  Philip.  ''  What  does  the  fellow  mean  by  quarrelling 
with  his  bread  and  butter?"  Mr.  Mugford  asked.     "Speak  to 


ox  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  525 

him,  and  show  him  what's  what,  Mr.  P.,  or  we  shall  come  to  a 
quarrel,  mind  you — and  1  don't  want  that,  for  the  sake  of  his 
little  wife,  poor  little  delicate  thing.  Whatever  is  to  happen  to 
them,  if  we  don't  stand  by  them  }  " 

What  was  to  happen  to  them,  indeed  1  Any  one  who  knew 
Philip's  temper  as  we  did,  was  aware  how  little  advice  or  remon 
strance  were  likely  to  affect  that  gentleman.  "  Good  heavens  !  " 
he  said  to  me,  when  I  endeavored  to  make  him  adopt  a  con- 
ciliatory tone  towards  his  employer,  "do  you  want  to  make  me 
Mugford's  galley-slave.?  I  shall  have  him  standing  over  me 
and  swearing  at  me  as  he  does  at  the  printers.  He  looks  into 
my  room  at  times  when  he  is  in  a  passion,  and  glares  at  me  as 
if  he  would  like  to  seize  me  by  the  throat ;  and  after  a  word  or 
two  he  goes  off,  and  I  hear  him  curse  the  boys  in  the  passage. 
One  day  it  will  be  on  me  that  he  will  turn,  I  feel  sure  of  that. 
I  tell  you  the  slavery  is  beginning  to  be  awful.  I  wake  of  a 
night  and  groan  and  chafe,  and  poor  Char,  too,  wakes  and  asks, 
'What  is  it,  Philip  .'' '  I  say  it  is  rheumatism.  Rheumatism  !  " 
Of  course  to  Philip's  malady  his  friends  tried  to  apply  the  com- 
monplace anodynes  and  consolations.  He  must  be  gentle  in 
his  bearing.  He  must  remember  that  his  employer  had  not 
been  bred  a  gentleman,  and  that,  though  rough  and  coarse  in 
language,  Mugford  had  a  kind  heart.  "'  There  is  no  need  to 
tell  me  he  is  not  a  gentleman,  I  know  that,"  says  poor  Phil. 
"  He  is  kind  to  Char  and  the  child,  that  is  the  truth,  and  so  is 
his  wife.  I  am  a  slave  for  all  that.  He  is  my  driver.  He  feeds 
me.  He  hasn't  beat  me  yet.  When  I  was  away  at  Paris  I  did 
not  feel  the  chain  so  much.  But  it  is  scarcely  tolerable  now, 
when  I  have  to  see  my  jailer  four  or  five  times  a  week.  My 
poor  little  Char,  why  did  I  drag  you  into  this  slavery  ?  " 

"  Because  you  wanted  a  consoler,  I  suppose,"  remarks  one 
of  Philip's  comforters.  "  And  do  you  suppose  Charlotte  would 
be  happier  if  she  were  away  from  you  ?  Though  you  live  up  two 
pair  of  stairs,  is  any  home  happier  than  yours,  Philip  ?  You 
often  own  as  much,  when  you  are  in  happier  moods.  Who  has 
not  his  work  to  do,  and  his  burden  to  bear  ?  You  say  some- 
times that  you  are  imperious  and  hot-tempered.  Perhaps  your 
slavery  as  you  call  it,  may  be  good  for  you." 

"  I  have  doomed  myself  and  her  to  it,"  says  Philip,  hanging 
down  his  head. 

"  Does  she  ever  repine  ?  "  asks  his  adviser.  "  Does  she  not 
think  herself  the  happiest  little  wife  in  liie  world  ?  See  here, 
Philip,  here  is  a  note  from  her  yesterday  in  which  she  says  as 
much.     Do  you  want  to  know  what  the  rote  is  about,  sir  ?  "  says 


526  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

the  lady  with  a  smile.  ''  Well,  then,  she  wanted  a  receipt  for 
that  dish  which  )ou  liked  so  much  on  Friday,  and  she  and  Mrs. 
Brandon  will  make  it  for  you." 

"And  if  it  consisted  of  minced  Charlotte,"  says  Philip's 
other  friend,  "you  know  she  would  cheerfully  chop  herself  up, 
and  have  herself  served  with  a  little  cream-sauce  and  sippets  of 
toast  for  your  honor's  dinner." 

This  was  undoubtedly  true.  Did  not  Job's  friends  make 
many  true  remarks  when  they  visited  him  in  his  affliction  ? 
Patient  as  he  was,  the  patriarch  groaned  and  lamented,  and 
why  should  not  poor  Philip  be  allowed  to  grumble,  who  was  not 
a  model  of  patience  at  all .''  He  was  not  broke  in  as  yet.  The 
mill-horse  was  restive  and  kicked  at  his  work.  He  would  chafe 
not  seldom  at  the  daily  drudgery,  and  have  his  fits  of  revolt  and 
despondency.  Well  .''  Have  others  not  had  to  toil,  to  bow  the 
proud  head,  and  carry  the  daily  burden  ?  Don't  you  see  Peg- 
asus, who  was  going  to  win  the  plate,  a  weary,  broken-knee'd, 
broken-down  old  cab-hack  shivering  in  the  rank  ;  or  a  sleek 
gelding,  mayhap,  pacing  under  a  corpulent  master  in  Rotten 
Row  ?  Philip's  crust  began  to  be  scanty,  and  was  dipped  in 
bitter  waters.  I  am  not  going  to  make  a  long  story  of  this  part 
of  his  career,  or  parade  my  friend  as  too  hungry  and  poor.  He 
is  safe  now,  and  out  of  all  peril,  heaven  be  thanked  !  but  he  had 
to  pass  through  hard  times,  and  to  look  out  very  wistfully  lest 
the  wolf  should  enter  at  the  door.  He  never  laid  claim  to  be  a 
man  of  genius,  nor  w'as  he  a  successful  quack  who  could  pass 
as  a  man  of  genius.  When  there  were  French  prisoners  in 
England,  we  know  how  stout  old  officers  who  had  plied  their 
sabres  against  M'amelouks,  or  Russians,  or  Germans,  were  fain 
to  carve  little  gimcracks  in  bone  with  their  penknives,  or  make 
baskets  and  boxes  of  chipped  straw,  and  piteously  sell  them  to 
casual  visitors  to  their  prison.  Philip  was  poverty's  prisoner. 
He  had  to  make  such  shifts,  and  do  such  work,  as  he  could 
find  in  his  captivity.  I  do  not  think  men  who  have  undergone 
the  struggle  and  served  the  dire  task-master,  like  to  look  back 
and  recall  the  grim  apprenticeship.  When  Philip  says  now, 
"What  fools  we  were  to  marry,  Char,"  she  looks  up  radiantly, 
with  love  and  happiness  in  her  eyes — looks  up  to  heaven,  and  is 
thankful  ;  but  grief  and  sadness  come  over  her  husband's  face 
at  the  thought  of  those  days  of  pain  and  gloom.  She  may 
soothe  him,  and  he  may  be  thankful  too  ;  but  the  wounds  are 
still  there  which  were  dealt  to  him  in  the  cruel  battle  with  for- 
tune. Men  are  ridden  down  in  it.  Men  arc  poltroons  and  run. 
Men  maraud,  break   ranks,  are  guilty  of  meanness,  cowardice, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


527 


shabby  plunder.  Men  are  raised  to  rank  and  honor,  01  drop 
and  perish  unnoticed  on  the  field.  Happy  he  who  comes  from 
it  with  his  lionor  pure  !  Philip  did  not  win  crosses  and  epaulets. 
He  is  like  us,  my  dear  sir,  not  a  heroic  genius  at  all.  And  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  all  three  have  behaved  with  an  average  pluck, 
and  have  been  guilty  of  no  meanness,  or  treachery,  or  desertion. 
Did  you  behave  otherwise,  what  would  wife  and  children 
say  ?  As  for  Mrs.  Philip,  I  tell  you  she  thinks  to  this  day  that 
there  is  no  man  like  her  husband,  and  is  ready  to  fall  down  and 
worship  the  boots  in  which  he  walks. 

How  do  men  live  .?  How  is  rent  paid  ?  How  does  the 
dinner  come  day  after  day }  As  a  rule  there  is  dinner.  You 
might  live  longer  with  less  of  it,  but  you  can't  go  without  it  and 
live  long.  How  did  my  neighbor  23  earn  his  carriage,  and  how 
did  24  pay  for  his  house  ?  As  1  am  writing  this  sentence  Mr. 
Cox,  who  collects  the  taxes  in  this  quarter,  walks  in.  How  do 
you  do,  Mr.  Cox  ?  We  are  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  meeting 
one  another.  Time  was — two,  three  years  of  time — when  poor 
Philip  was  troubled  at  the  sight  of  Cox  ;  and  this  troublous 
time  his  biographer  intends  to  pass  over  in  a  very  few  pages. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  of  New 
York  heard  with  modified  wonder  that  the  editor  of  that  fash- 
ionable journal  had  made  a  retreat  from  the  city,  carrying  with 
him  the  scanty  contents  of  the  till  ;  so  the  contributions  of 
Philalthetes  never  brought  our  poor  friend  any  dollars  at  all. 
But  though  one  fish  is  caught  and  eaten,  are  there  not  plenty 
more  left  in  the  sea?  At  this  very  time,  when  I  was  in  a  nat- 
ural state  of  despondency  about  poor  Philip's  affairs,  it  struck 
Tregarvan,  the  wealthy  Cornish  Member  of  Parliament,  that 
the  Government  and  the  House  of  Commons  slighted  his 
speeches  and  his  views  on  foreign  politics  ;  that  the  wife  of  the 
Foreign  Secretary  had  been  very  inattentive  to  Lady  Tregar- 
van ;  that  the  designs  of  a  Great  Power  were  most  menacing 
and  dangerous,  and  ought  to  be  exposed  and  counteracted  ;  and 
that  the  peerage  which  he  had  long  desired  ought  to  be  bestowed 
on  him.  Sir  John  Tregarvan  applied  to  certain  literary  and 
political  gentlemen  with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  He  would 
bring  out  the  European  Reniew.  He  would  expose  the  designs 
of  that  Great  Power  which  was  menacing  Europe.  He  would 
show  up  in  his  proper  colors  a  Minister  who  was  careless  of  the 
country's  honor,  and  forgetful  of  his  own  :  a  Minister  whose  arro- 
gance ought  no  longer  to  be  tolerated  by  the  country  gentlemen 
of  England,  Sir  John,  a  little  man  in  brass  buttons,  and  a  tall 
head,  who  loves  to  hear  his  own  voice,  came  and  made  a  speech 


S2f 


THE  ADVEA'TURES  OE  rillLIP 


on  ihe  above  topics  to  the  writer  of  the  present  biography  ;  that 
writer's  lady  was  in  his  study  as  Sir  John  expounded  his  views 
at  some  length.  She  listened  to  him  with  the  greatest  atten- 
tion and  respect.  She  was  shocked  to  hear  of  the  ingratitude 
of  Government ;  astounded  and  terrified  by  his  exposition  of 
the  designs  of — of  that  Great  Power  whose  intrigues  were  so 
menacing  to  European  tranquillity.  She  was  most  deeply  in- 
terested in  the  idea  of  establishing  the  Review.  He  would,  of 
of  course,  be  himself  the  editor  •  and — and — (here  the  woman 
looked  across  the  table  at  her  husband  with  a  strange  triumj^h 
in  her  eyes) — she  knew,  they  both  knew,  the  very  man  of  all  the 
world  \n\\o  was  most  suited  to  act  as  sub-editor  under  Sir  John 
— a  gentleman,  one  of  the  truest  that  ever  lived — a  university 
man  ;  a  man  remarkably  versed  in  the  European  languages — 
that  is,  in  French  most  certainly.  And  now  the  reader,  I  dare 
say,  can  guess  who  this  individual  was.  "  I  knew  it  at  once," 
says  the  lady,  after  Sir  John  had  taken  his  leave.  "  I  told  you 
that  those  dear  children  would  not  be  forsaken."  And  I  would 
no  more  try  and  persuade  her  that  the  European  Review  was 
not  ordained  of  all  time  to  aft'ord  maintainance  to  Philip,  than 
J  would  induce  her  to  turn  Mormon,  and  accept  all  the  conse- 
quences to  which  ladies  must  submit  when  they  make  profes- 
sion of  that  creed. 

"You  see,  my  love,"  1  say  to  the  partner  of  my  existence, 
"  what  other  things  must  have  been  ordained  of  all  time  as 
well  as  Philip's  appointment  to  be  sub-editor  of  the  European 
Re7ne7v.  It  must  have  been  decreed  ah  initio  that  Lady  Plin- 
limmon  should  give  evening-parties,  in  order  that  she  might  of- 
fend Lady  Tregarvan  by  not  asking  her  to  those  parties.  It 
must  have  been  ordained  by  fate  that  Lady  Tregarvan  should 
be  of  a  jealous  disposition,  so  that  she  might  hate  Lady  Plin- 
limmon,  and  was  to  work  upon  her  husband,  and  inspire  him 
with  anger  and  revolt  against  his  chief.  It  must  have  been 
ruled  by  destiny  that  Tregarvan  should  be  rather  a  weak  and 
wordy  personage,  fancying  that  he  had  a  talent  for  literary  com- 
position. Else  he  would  not  have  thought  of  setting  up  the 
Revie7c>.  Else  lie  would  never  have  been  angry  with  Lord  Plin- 
limmon  for  not  inviting  him  to  tea.  Else  he  would  not  have 
engaged  Philip  as  sub-editor.  So,  you  see,  in  order  to  bring 
about  this  event,  and  put  a  couple  of  hundred  a  year  into 
Philip  P'irmin's  pocket,  the  Tregarvans  have  to  be  born  from 
the  earliest  times  :  the  IMinlimmons  have  to  spring  up  in  the 
remotest  ages,  and  come  down  to  the  present  dav  :  Doctor 
Eirmin  lias  to  be  a  roj^ue,  and  undergo  his  destiny  of  cheating 


ON  HIS  IVAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD-  529 

his  son  of  money  :  all  mankind  up  to  the  origin  of  our  race  are 
involved  in  your  proposition,  and  we  actually  arri\e  at  Adam 
and  Eve,  who  are  but  fulfilling  their  destiny,  which  was  to  be 
the  ancestors  of  I'hilip  Firmin." 

''  Even  in  our  first  parents  there  was  doubt  and  skepticism 
and  misgiving,"  says  the  lady,  with  strong  emphasis  on  the 
words.  "  If  you  mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
Superior  Power  watching  over  us,  and  ordaining  things  for  our 
good,  you  are  an  atheist — and  such  a  thing  as  an  atheist  does 
not  exist  in  the  world,  and  L  would  not  believe  you  if  you  said 
you  were  one  twenty  times  over." 

I  mention  these  points  by  the  way,  and  as  samples  of  lady- 
like logic.  I  acknowledge  that  Philip  himself,  as  he  looks  back 
at  his  past  career,  is  very  much  moved.  "  1  do  not  deny,"  he 
says,  gravely,  "  that  these  things  happened  in  the  natural  order. 
I  say  1  am  grateful  for  what  happened  ;  and  look  back  at  the 
past  not  without  awe.  In  great  grief  and  danger  maybe,  1  have 
had  timely  rescue.  Under  great  suffering  1  have  met  with  su- 
preme consolation.  When  the  trial  has  seemed  almost  too  hard 
for  me  it  has  ended,  and  our  darkness  has  been  lightened.  Ut 
vivo  et  vah'o — si  vaho,  I  know  by  Whose  permission  this  is, — 
and  would  you  forbid  me  to  be  thankful  ?  to  be  thankful  for 
my  life  ;  to  be  thankful  for  my  children  ;  to  be  thankful  for  the 
daily  bread  which  has  been  granted  to  me,  and  the  temptation 
from  which  I  have  been  rescued  ?  As  I  think  of  the  past  and 
its  bitter  trials,  I  bow  my  head  in  thanks  and  awe.  I  wanted 
succor,  and  I  found  it.  I  fell  on  evil  times,  and  good  friends 
pitied  and  helped  me — good  friends  like  yourself,  your  dear 
wife,  many  another  I  could  name.  In  what  moments  of  de- 
pression, old  friend,  have  you  not  seen  me,  and  cheered  me  ? 
Do  you  know  in  the  moments  of  our  grief  the  inexpressible 
value  of  your  sympathy  ?  Your  good  Samaritan  takes  out  only 
twopence  maybe  for  the  wayfarer  whom  he  has  rescued,  but 
the  little  timely  supply  saves  a  life.  Yoti  remember  dear  old 
Ned  St.  George — dead  in  the  West  Indies  years  ago  ?  Before 
he  got  his  place  Ned  was  hanging  on  in  London,  so  utterly  poor 
and  ruined,  that  he  had  not  often  a  shilling  to  buy  a  dinner. 
He  used  often  to  come  to  us,  and  my  wife  and  our  children 
loved  him  ;  and  I  used  to  leave  a  heap  of  shillings  on  my  study- 
table,  so  that  he  might  take  two  or  three  as  he  wanted  them.  Of 
course  you  remember  him.  You  were  at  the  dinner  which  we 
ga\  e  him  on  his  getting  his  j^lace.  I  forget  the  cost  of  that  dinner  ; 
but  I  remember  my  share  amounted  to  the  exact  number  of 
shillings  which  poor  Ned  had  taken  off  my  table.     He  gave  me 


53° 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


the  mone)'  then  and  there  at  the  tavern  at  Blackwall.  He  said 
it  seemed  providential.  But  for  those  shillings,  and  the  con- 
stant welcome  at  our  poor  little  table,  he  said  he  thought  he 
should  have  made  away  with  his  life.  I  am  not  bragging  of  the 
twopence  which  I  gave,  but  thanking  God  for  sending  me  there 
to  give  it.  Benedico  Bcnedictus.  I  wonder  sometimes  am  I  the 
I  of  twenty  years  ago  ?  before  our  heads  were  bald,  friend,  and 
when  the  little  ones  reached  up  to  our  knees  ?  Before  dinner 
you  saw  me  in  the  library  reading  in  that  old  European  [Revieia 
which  your  friend  Tregarvan  established.  I  came  upon  an 
article  of  my  own,  and  a  very  dull  one,  on  a  subject  which  T 
knew  nothing  about.  'Persian  politics,  and  the  intrigues  at  the 
Court  of  Teheran.'  It  was  done  to  order.  Tregarvan  had 
some  special  interest  about  Persia,  or  wanted  to  vex  Sir  Thomas 
Nobbles,  who  was  Minister  there.  I  breakfasted  with  Tregar- 
van in  the  '  Albany,'  the  facts  (we  will  call  them  facts)  and 
papers  were  supplied  to  me,  and  I  went  home  to  point  out  the 
delinquencies  of  Sir  Thomas,  and  the  atrocious  intrigues  of  the 
Russian  Court.  Well,  sir.  Nobbles,  Tregarvan,  Teheran,  all 
disappeared  as  I  looked  at  the  text  in  the  old  volume  of  the 
jRevietv.  I  saw  a  deal  table  in  a  little  room,  and  a  reading-lamp, 
and  a  young  fellow  writing  at  it,  with  a  sad  heart,  and  a  dread- 
ful apprehension  torturing  him.  One  of  our  children  was  ill  in 
the  adjoining  room,  and  I  have  before  me  the  figure  of  my  wife 
coming  in  from  time  to  time  to  my  room  and  saying,  '  She  is 
asleep  now,  and  the  fever  is  much  lower.'  " 

Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
a  tall  young  lady,  who  says,  "  Papa,  the  coffee  is  quite  cold  : 
and  tlie  carriage  will  be  here  very  soon,  and  both  mamma  and 
my  godmother  say  they  are  growing  very  angry.  Do  you  know 
you  have  been  talking  here  for  two  hours  .-* " 

Had  two  hours  actually  slipped  away  as  we  sat  prattling 
about  old  times  ?  As  I  narrate  them,  I  prefer  to  give  Mr. 
Firmin's  account  of  iffs  adventures  in  his  own  words,  where  I 
can  recall  or  imitate  them.  Both  of  us  are  graver  and  more 
reverend  seigniors  than  we  were  at  the  time  of  which  I  am 
writing.  Has  not  Firmin's  girl  grown  up  to  be  taller  than  her 
godmother  ?  Veterans  both,  we  love  to  prattle  about  the  merry 
days  when  we  were  young — (the  merry  days  ?  no,  the  past  is 
never  merry) — about  the  da}s  when  we  were  young  ;  and  do  we 
grow  young  in  talking  of  them,  or  only  indulge  in  a  senile  cheer- 
fulness and  prolixity .? 

Tregarvan  sleejis  witli  his  Cornish  fathers:  Furope  for 
many  years   has  gone   im  without   her  Rcvieiv :  hut  it    is  a  cer- 


O.V  I//S  IVAV  rilKOUGir  T/IE   world.  c;3I 

tainty  that  the  establishment  of  that  occult  organ  of  opinion 
tended  very  much  to  benefit  Philip  Firmin,  and  helped  for  a 
while  to  supply  him  and  several  innocent  people  dependent  on 
him  with  their  daily  bread.  Of  course,  as  they  were  so  poor, 
this  worthy  family  increased  and  multiplied ;  and  as  they  in- 
creased, and  as  they  multiplied,  my  wife  insists  that  I  should 
point  out  how  support  was  found  for  them.  When  there  was  a 
second  child  in  Philip's  nursery,  he  would  have  removed  from 
his  lodgings  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  but  for  the  prayers  and 
commands  of  the  alifectionate  Little  Sister,  who  insisted  that 
there  was  plenty  of  room  in  the  house  for  everybody,  and  who 
said  that  if  Philip  went  away  she  would  cut  off  her  little  god- 
child with  a  shilling.  And  then  indeed  it  was  discovered  for 
the  first  time,  that  this  faithful  and  affectionate  creature  had 
endowed  Philip  with  all  her  property.  These  are  the  rays  of 
sunshine  in  the  dungeon.  These  are  the  drops  of  water  in  the 
desert.  And  with  a  full  heart  our  friend  acknowledges  how 
comfort  came  to  him  in  his  hour  of  need. 

Though  Mr.  Firmin  has  a  very  grateful  heart,  it  has  been 
admitted  that  he  was  a  loud,  disagreeable  Firmin  at  times,  im- 
petuous in  his  talk,  and  violent  in  his  behavior  :  and  we  are 
now  come  to  that  period  of  his  history,  when  he  had  a  quarrel 
in  which  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mr.  Philip  was  in  the  wrong.  Why 
do  we  consort  with  those  whom  we  dislike  ?  Why  is  it  that 
men  will  try  and  associate  between  whom  no  love  is?  I  think 
it  was  the  ladies  who  tried  to  reconcile  Philip  and  his  master  ; 
who  brought  them  together,  and  strove  to  make  them  friends  ; 
but  the  more  they  met  the  more  they  disliked  each  other ;  and 
now  the  Muse  has  to  relate  their  final  and  irreconcilable  rup- 
ture. 

Of  Mugford's  wrath  the  direful  tale  relate,  O  Muse  !  and 
Philip's  pitiable  fate.  I  have  shown  how  the  men  had  long 
been  inwardly  envenomed  one  against  the  other.  "  Because 
Firmin  is  as  poor  as  a  rat,  that's  no  reason  why  he  should  adopt 
that  hawhaw  manner,  and  them  high  and  mighty  airs  towards 
a  man  who  gives  him  the  bread  he  eats,"  Mugford  argued  not 
unjustly.  "  What  do  /care  for  his  being  a  university  man  }  I 
am  as  good  as  he  is.  I  am  better  than  his  old  scamp  of  a 
father,  who  was  a  college  man  too,  and  lived  in  fine  company. 
I  made  my  own  way  in  the  world,  independent,  and  supported 
myself  since  I  was  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  helped  my  mother 
and  brothers  too,  and  that's  more  than  my  sub-editor  can  say, 
who  can't  support  himself  yet.  I  could  get  fifty  sub-editors  as 
good  as  he  is,  by  calling  out  of  window  into  the' street,  I  could. 


532 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  J'lUIJP 


I  say,  hang  Firmin !  I'm  a-losing  all  patience  with  him."  On 
the  other  hand,  Mr.  Philip  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  his 
mind  with  equal  candor.  "  What  right  has  that  person  to  call 
me  Firmin  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  am  P'irmin  to  my  equals  and 
friends.  I  am  this  man's  laborer  at  four  guineas  a  week.  I 
give  him  his  money's  worth,  and  on  every  Saturday  evening  we 
are  quits.  Call  me  Philip,  indeed,  and  strike  me  in  the  side  ! 
I  choke,  sir,  as  I  think  of  the  confounded  familiarity  !  "  "  Con- 
found his  impudence  !  "  was  the  cry,  and  the  not  unjust  cry  of 
the  laborer  and  his  employer.  The  men  should  have  been 
kept  apart  :  and  it  was  a  most  mistaken  Christian  charity  and 
female  conspiracy  which  brought  them  together.  "  Another 
invitation  from  Mugford.  It  was  agreed  that  I  was  never  to  go 
again,  and  I  won't  go,"  says  Philip  to  his  meek  wife.  "  Write 
and  say  we  are  engaged,  Charlotte." 

"  It  is  for  the  i8th  of  next  month,  and  this  is  the  23d," 
said  poor  Charlotte.  "  We  can't  well  say  that  we  are  engaged 
so  far  off." 

"  It  is  for  one  of  his  grand  ceremony  parties,"  urged  the 
Little  Sister.  "  You  can't  come  to  no  quarrelling  there.  He 
has  a  good  heart.  So  have  you.  There's  no  good  quarrelling 
with  him.  Oh,  Philip,  do  forgive,  and  be  friends  !  "  Philip 
yielded  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  women,  as  we  all  do ;  and 
a  letter  was  sent  to  Hampstead,  announcing  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
P.  F.  would  have  the  honor  of,  &c. 

In  his  quality  of  newspaper  proprietor,  musical  professors 
and  opera  singers  paid  much  court  to  Mr.  Mugford  ;  and  he 
liked  to  entertain  them  at  his  hospitable  table  ;  to  brag  about 
his  wines,  cookery,  plate,  garden,  prosperity,  and  private  vir- 
tue, during  dinner,  whilst  the  artists  sat  respectively  listening 
to  him  ;  and  to  go  to  sleep  and  snore,  or  wake  up  and  join 
cheerfully  in  a  chorus,  when  the  professional  people  performed 
in  the  drawing-room.  Now,  there  was  a  lady  who  was  once 
known  at  the  theatre  by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Ravenswing,  and 
who  had  been  forced  on  to  the  stage  by  the  misconduct  of  her 
husband,  a  certain  Walker,  one  of  the  greatest  scamps  who  ever 
entered  a  jail.  On  Walker's  death,  this  lady  married  a  Mr. 
Woolsey,  a  wealthy  tailor,  who  retired  from  his  business,  as  he 
caused  his  wife  to  withdraw  from  hers. 

Now,  more  worthy  and  honorable  people  do  not  live  than 
Woolsey  and  his  wife,  as  those  know  who  were  acquainted 
with  their  history.  Mrs.  Woolsey  is  loud.  14 er  //'s  are  by  no 
means  where  they  should  be  ;  her  knife  at  dinner  is  often  where 
it  should   not  be.     She  calls  men   aloud  by  their  names,  and 


ox  J/ IS  WAY  Timor  Li  J/  the  world. 


533 


without  any  prefix  of  courtesy.  She  is  very  fond  of  porter,  and 
has  no  scruple  in  aslcing  for  it.  She  sits  down  to  play  the 
piano  and  to  sing  with  perfect  good  nature,  and  if  you  look  at 
her  hands  as  they  wander  over  the  keys — well,  1  don't  wish  to 
say  anything  unkind,  but  I  am  forced  to  own  that  those  hands 
are  not  so  white  as  the  ivory  which  they  thump.  Woolsey  sits 
in  perfect  rapture  listening  to  his  wife.  Mugford  presses  her 
to  take  a  glass  of  "  somethink "  afterwards  ;  and  the  good- 
natured  soul  says  she  will  take  "something  'ot."  She  sits  and 
listens  with  infinite  patience  and  good-humor  whilst  the  little 
Mugfords  go  through  their  horrible  little  musical  exercises  \ 
and  these  over,  she  is  ready  to  go  back  to  the  piano  again,  and 
sing  more  songs,  and  drink  more  "  'ot." 

I  do  not  say  that  this  was  an  elegant  woman,  or  a  fitting 
companion  for  Mrs.  Philip  ;  but  I  know  that  Mrs.  Woolsey  was 
a  good,  clever,  and  kindly  woman,  and  that  Philip  behaved 
rudely  to  her.  He  never  meant  to  be  rude  to  her,  he  said  ;  but 
the  truth  is,  he  treated  her,  her  husband,  Mugford,  and  Mrs. 
Mugford,  with  a  haughty  ill-humor  which  utterly  exasperated 
and  perplexed  them. 

About  this  poor  lady,  who  was  modest  and  innocent  as 
Susannah,  Philip  had  heard  some  wicked  elders  at  wicked  clubs 
tell  wicked  stories  in  old  times.  There  was  that  old  Trail,  for 
instance,  what  woman  escaped  from  his  sneers  and  slanders  .'' 
There  w-ere  others  who  could  be  named,  and  whose  testimony 
was  equally  untruthful.  On  an  ordinary  occasion  Philip  would 
never  have  cared  or  squabbled  about  a  question  of  precedence, 
and  would  have  taken  any  place  assigned  to  him  at  any  table. 
But  when  Mrs.  Woolsey  in  crumpled  satins  and  blowsy  lace 
made  her  appearance,  and  was  eagerly  and  respectfully  saluted 
by  the  host  and  hostess,  Philip  remembered  those  early  stories 
about  the  poor  lady  :  his  eyes  flashed  wrath,  and  his  breast 
beat  with  an  indignation  which  almost  choked  him.  Ask  that 
woman  to  meet  my  wife  ?  he  thought  to  himself,  and  looked  so 
ferocious  and  desperate  that  the  timid  little  wife  gazed  with 
alarm  at  her  Philip,  and  crept  up  to  him  and  whispered,  "  What 
is  it,  dear?  " 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Mugford  and  Mrs.  Woolsey  were  in  full 
colloquy  about  the  weather,  the  nursery,  and  so  forth — and 
Woolsey  and  Mugford  giving  each  other  the  hearty  grasp  o£ 
friendship.  Philip,  then,  scowling  at  the  newly-arrived  guests, 
turning  his  great  hulking  back  upon  the  company,  and  talking 
to  his  wife,  presented  a  not  agreeable  figure  to  his  enter- 
tainer. 


534 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


"  Hang  the  fellow's  pride  !  "  thought  Mugford.  "  He  chooses 
to  turn  his  back  upon  my  company  because  Woolsey  was  a 
tradesman.  An  honest  tailor  is  better  than  a  bankrupt,  swind- 
ling doctor,  I  should  think.  Woolsey  need  not  be  ashamed  to 
show  his  face,  I  suppose.  Why  did  you  make  me  ask  that 
fellar  again,  Mrs.  M.  ?  Don't  you  see,  our  society  ain't  good 
enough  for  him  .■'  " 

Philip's  conduct,  then,  so  irritated  Mugford,  that  when  dinner 
was  announced,  he  stepped  forward  and  offered  his  arm  to 
Mrs.  Woolsey ;  having  intended  in  the  first  instance  to  confer 
that  honor  upon  Charlotte.  I'll  show  him,"  thought  Mugford, 
"that  an  honest  tradesman's  lady  who  pays  his  way,  and  is  not 
afraid  of  anybody,  is  better  than  my  sub-editor's  wife,  the 
daughter  of  a  bankrupt  swell."  Though  the  dinner  was  illu- 
minated by  Mugford's  grandest  plate,  and  accompanied  by  his 
very  best  wine,  it  was  a  gloomy  and  weary  repast  to  several 
people  present,  and  Philip  and  Charlotte,  and  I  dare  say  Mug- 
ford, thought  it  never  would  be  done.  Mrs.  Woolsey,  to  be 
sure,  placidly  ate  her  dinner,  and  drank  her  wine  ;  whilst  re- 
membering these  wicked  legends  against  her,  Philip  sat  before 
the  poor  unconscious  lady,  silent,  with  glaring  eyes,  insolent 
and  odious ;  so  much  so,  that  Mrs.  Woolsey  imparted  to  Mrs. 
Mugford  her  surprise  that  the  tall  gentleman  must  have  got 
out  of  bed  the  wrong  leg  foremost. 

Well,  Mrs.  Woolsey's  carriage  and  Mr.  Firmin's  cab  were 
announced  at  the  same  moment ;  and  immediately  Philip  started 
up  and  beckoned  his  wife  away.  But  Mrs.  Woolsey's  carriage 
and  lamps  of  course  had  the  precedence  ;  and  this  lady  Mr, 
Mugford  accompanied  to  her  carriage  step. 

He  did  not  pay  the  same  attention  to  Mrs.  Firmin.  Most 
likely  he  forgot.  Possibly  he  did  not  think  etiquette  required 
he  should  show  that  sort  of  politeness  to  a  sub-editor's  wife  : 
at  any  rate,  he  was  not  so  rude  as  Philip  himself  had  been  dur- 
ing the  e\ening,  but  he  stood  in  the  hall  looking  at  his  guests 
departing  in  their  cab,  when,  in  a  sudden  gust  of  passion, 
Philip  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  and  stalked  up  to  his  host, 
W'ho  stood  there  in  his  own  hall  confronting  him,  Philip  de- 
clared, with  a  most  impudent  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Come  back  to  light  a  pipe  I  suppose  ?  Nice  thing  for 
your  wife,  ain't  it  ?  "  said  Mugford,  relishing  his  own  joke. 

"I  am  come  back,  sir,"  said  Philip,  glaring  at  Mugford, 
"  to  ask  how  you  dared  invite  Mrs.  Philip  Firmin  to  meet  that 
woman  ?  " 

Here,  on  his  side,  Mr.  Mugford  lost  his   temper,  and  from 


O.V  HIS  IV A  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


535 


this  moment  his  wrong  begins.  When  he  was  in  a  passion,  the 
language  used  by  Mr.  Mugford  was  not,  it  appears,  choice. 
We  have  heard  that  when  angry,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  swear- 
ing freely  at  his  subordinates.  He  broke  out  on  this  occasion 
also  with  many  oaths.  He  told  Philip  that  he  would  stand  his 
impudence  no  longer ;  that  he  was  as  good  as  a  swindling  doc- 
tor's son  ;  that  though  he  hadn't  been  to  college  he  could  buy 
and  pay  them  as  had  ;  and  that  if  Philip  liked  to  come  into  the 
back  yard  for  ten  minutes,  he'd  give  him  one — two,  and  show 
him  whether  he  was  a  man  or  not.  Poor  Char,  who,  indeed, 
fancied  that  her  husband  had  gone  back  to  light  his  cigar,  sat 
awhile  unconscious  in  her  cab,  and  supposed  that  the  two  gen- 
tlemen were  engaged  on  newspaper  business.  When  Mugford 
began  to  pull  his  coat  off,  she  sat  wondering,  but  not  in  the 
least  understanding  the  meaning  of  the  action.  Philip  had 
described  his  employer  as  walking  about  his  office  without  a 
coat  and  using  energetic  language. 

But  when,  attracted  by  the  loudness  of  the  talk,  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford came  forth  from  her  neighboring  drawing-room,  accom- 
panied by  such  of  her  children  as  had  not  yet  gone  to  roost — 
when  seeing  Mugford  pulling  off  his  dress-coat,  she  began  to 
scream — when,  lifting  his  voice  over  hers,  Mugford  poured  forth 
oaths,  and  frantically  shook  his  fists  at  Philip,  asking  how  that 
blackguard  dared  insult  him  in  his  own  house,  and  proposing 
to  knock  his  head  off  at  that  moment — then  poor  Char,  in  wild 
alarm,  sprang  out  of  the  cab,  and  ran  to  her  husband,  whose 
whole  frame  was  throbbing,  whose  nostrils  were  snorting  with 
passion.  Then  Mrs.  Mugford  springing  forward,  placed  her 
ample  form  before  her  husband's,  and  calling  Philip  a  great 
cowardly  beast,  asked  him  if  he  was  going  to  attack  that  little 
old  man  ?  Then  INIugford  dashing  his  coat  down  to  the  ground, 
called  with  fresh  oaths  to  Philip  to  come  on.  And,  in  fine, 
there  was  a  most  unpleasant  row,  occasioned  by  Mr.  Philip 
Finnin's  hot  temper. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

RES     ANGUSTA     DOMI. 


To  reconcile  these  two  men  was  impossible,  after  such  a 
quarrel  as  that  described  in  the  last  chapter.  The  only  chance 
of  peace  was  to  keep  the  two  men  apart.     If  they  met,  they 


536  I^HE  ADVENTURES  OF  Pill  UP 

would  fly  at  each  other.  Mugford  always  persisted  that  he  could 
have  got  the  better  of  his  great  hulking  sub-editor,  who  did  not 
know  the  use  of  his  fists.  In  Alugford's  youthful  time,  bruising 
was  a  fashionable  art ;  and  the  old  gentleman  still  believed  in 
his  own  skill  and  prowess.  "  Don't  tell  me,"  he  would  say  ; 
"  though  the  fellar  is  as  big  as  a  life-guardsman,  I  would  have 
doubled  him  up  in  two  minutes."  I  am  very  glad,  for  poor 
Charlotte's  sake  and  his  own,  that  Philip  did  not  undergo  the 
doubling-up  process.  He  himself  felt  such  a  wrath  and  sur- 
prise at  his  employer  as,  I  suppose,  a  lion  does  when  a  little 
dog  attacks  him.  I  should  not  like  to  be  that  little  dog;  nor 
nor  does  my  modest  and  peaceful  nature  at  all  prompt  and 
impel  me  to  combat  with  lions. 

It  was  mighty  well  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  had  shown  his  spirit, 
and  quarrelled  with  his  bread-and-butter  ;  but  when  Saturday 
came,  what  philanthropist  would  hand  four  sovereigns  and  four 
shillings  over  to  Mr.  F.,  as  Mr.  Burjoice,  the  publisher  of  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  had  been  accustoined  to  do  ?  I  will  say  for 
my  friend  that  a  still  keener  remorse  than  that  which  he  felt 
about  money  thrown  away  attended  him  when  he  found  that 
Mrs.  Woolsey,  towards  whom  he  had  cast  a  sidelong  stone  of 
persecution,  was  a  most  respectable  and  honorable  lady.  ''  I 
should  like  to  go,  sir,  and  grovel  before  her,"  Philip  said,  in  his 
energetic  way.  "  If  I  see  that  tailor,  I  will  request  him  to  put 
his  foot  on  my  head,  and  trample  on  me  with  his  high-lows. 
Oh,  for  shame  !  for  shame  !  Shall  I  never  learn  charity  .to- 
wards my  neighbors,  and  always  go  on  believing  in  the  lies 
which  people  tell  me  ?  When  I  meet  that  scoundrel  Trail  at 
the  club,  I  must  chastise  him.  How  dared  he  take  away  the 
reputation  of  an  honest  woman  ?  "  Philip's  friends  besought 
him,  for  the  sake  of  society  and  peace,  not  to  carry  this  quarrel 
farther.  "If,"  we  said,  "  every  woman  whom  Trail  has  ma- 
ligned had  a  champion  who  should  box  Trail's  ears  at  the  club, 
what  a  vulgar,  quarrelsome  place  that  club  would  become  ! 
My  dear  Philip,  did  you  ever  know  Mr.  Trail  say  a  good  word 
of  man  or  woman  ?  "  and  by  these  or  similar  entreaties  and 
arguments,  we  succeeded  in  keeping  the  Queen's  peace. 

Yes  :  but  how  find  another  Pall  Mall  Gazette  I  Had  Philip 
possessed  seven  thousand  pounds  in  the  three  per  cents.,  his 
income  would  have  been  no  greater  than  that  which  he  drew 
from  Mugford's  faithful  bank.  Ah  !  how  wonderful  ways  and 
means  are  !  When  I  think  how  this  very  line,  this  very  word, 
which  I  am  writing  represents  money,  I  am  lost  in  respectful 
astonishment.     A  man  takes  his  own  case,  as  he  says  his  own 


ox  HIS  WAY  rifROUGU  THE   WORLD. 


537 


prayers,  on  behalf  of  himself  and  liis  family.  I  am  paid,  we 
will  say,  for  the  sake  of  illustration,  at  the  rate  of  sixpence  per 
line.  With  the  words,  "  Ah,  how  wonderful,"  to  the  words 
"  per  line,"  I  can  buy  a  loaf,  a  piece  of  butter,  a  jug  of  milk,  a 
modicum  of  tea, — actually  enough  to  make  breakfast  for  the 
family;  and  the  servants  of  the  house  ;  and  the  charwoman, 
their  servant,  can  shake  up  tiie  tea-leaves  with  a  fresh  supply  of 
water,  sop  the  crusts,  and  get  a  meal  iant  hieii  que  vial.  Wife, 
children,  guests,  servants,  charwoman,  we  are  all  actually  mak- 
ing a  meal  off  Philip  Firmin's  bones  as  it  were.  And  my  next- 
door  neighbor,  whom  I  see  marching  away  to  chambers,  um- 
brella in  hand  .''  And  next  door  but  one  the  City  man  ?  And 
next  door  but  two  the  doctor  ? — I  know  the  baker  has  left 
loaves  at  every  one  of  their  dooi  s  this  morning,  that  all  their 
chimneys  are  smoking,  and  they  will  all  have  breakfast.  Ah, 
thank  God  for  it  !  I  hope,  friend,  you  and  I  are  not  too  proud 
to  ask  for  our  daily  bread,  and  to  be  grateful  for  getting  it  ? 
Mr.  Philip  had  to  work  for  his,  in  care  and  trouble,  like  other 
children  of  men  : — to  work  for  it,  and  I  hope  to  pray  for  it,  too. 
It  is  a  thought  to  me  awful  and  beautiful,  that  of  the  daily 
prayer,  and  of  the  myriads  of  fellow-men  uttering  it,  in  care 
and  in  sickness,  in  doubt  and  in  poverty,  in  health  and  in 
wealth.  Paneni  nostnwi  da  nobis  /iodic.  Philip  whispers  it  by 
the  bedside  where  wife  and  child  lie  sleeping,  and  goes  to  his 
early  labor  with  a  stouter  heart  :  as  he  creeps  to  his  rest  when 
the  day's  labor  is  over,  and  the  quotidian  bread  is  earned,  and 
breathes  his  hushed  thanks  to  tl^e  bountiful  Giver  of  the  meal. 
All  over  this  world  what  an  endless  chorus  is  singing  of  love, 
and  thanks,  and  prayer.     Day  tells  to  day  the  wondrous  story, 

and  night  recounts  it  unto  night. How  do  I  come  to  think 

of  a  sunrise  which  I  saw  near  twenty  years  ago  on  the  Nile, 
when  the  river  and  sky  flushed  and  glowed  with  the  dawning 
light,  and  as  the  luminary  appeared,  the  boatman  knelt  on  the 
rosy  deck,  and  adored  Allah  ?  So,  as  thy  sun  rises,  friend, 
over  the  humble  housetops  round  about  your  home,  shall  you 
wake  many  and  many  a  day  to  duty  and  labor.  May  the  task 
have  been  honestly  done  when  the  night  comes  ;  and  the  stew- 
ard deal  kindly  with  the  laborer. 

So  two  of  Philip's  cables  cracked  and  gave  way  after  a  very 
brief  strain,  and  the  poor  fellow  held  by  nothing  now  but  that 
wonderful  European  Review  established  by  the  mysterious  Tre- 
garvan.  Actors,  a  people  of  superstitions  and  traditions,  opine 
that  heaven,  in  some  mysterious  way.  makes  managers  for  their 
benefit.     In  like  manner,  Review  proprietors  are  sent  to  pro 


238  '^^ff'  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

vide  the  pabulum  for  us  men  of  letters.  With  what  compla- 
cency did  my  wife  listen  to  the  somewhat  long-winded  and 
pompous  oratory  of  Tregarvan  !  He  pompous  and  common- 
place ?  Tregarvan  spoke  with  excellent  good  sense.  That 
wily  woman  never  showed  she  was  tired  of  his  conversation. 
She  praised  him  to  Philip  behind  his  back,  and  would  not  allow 
a  word  in  his  disparagement.  As  a  doctor  will  punch  your 
chest,  your  liver,  your  heart,  listen  at  your  lungs,  squeeze  your 
pulse,  and  what  not,  so  this  practitioner  studied,  shampooed,  aus- 
cultated Tregarvan.  Of  course,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  oper- 
ated upon.  Of  course,  he  had  no  idea  that  the  lady  was  flatter- 
ing, wheedling,  humbugging  him  ;  but  thought  that  he  was  a  very 
well-informed,  eloquent  man,  who  had  seen  and  read  a  great  deal, 
and  had  an  agreeable  method  of  imparting  his  knowledge,  and 
that  the  lady  in  question  was  a  sensible  woman,  naturally  ea- 
ger for  more  information.  Go,  Delilah !  I  understand  your 
tricks  !  I  know  many  another  Omphale  in  London,  who  will 
coax  Hercules  away  from  his  club,  to  come  and  listen  to  her 
wheedling  talk. 

One  great  difficulty  we  had  was  to  make  Philip  read  Tre- 
garvan's  own  articles  in  the  Review.  He  at  first  said  he  could 
not,  or  that  he  could  not  remember  them  ;  so  that  there  was 
no  use  in  reading  them.  And  Philip's  new  master  used  to 
make  artful  allusions  to  his  own  writings  in  the  course  of  con- 
versation, so  that  our  unwary  friend  would  find  himself  under 
examination  in  any  casual  interview  with  Tregarvan,  whose 
opinions  on  free-trade,  malt-tax,  income-tax,  designs  of  Russia, 
or  what  not,  might  be  accepted  or  denied,  but  ought  at  least 
to  be  known.  We  actually  made  Philip  get  up  his  owner's  ar- 
ticles. We  put  questions  to  him,  privily,  regarding  them — 
"coached"  him,  according  to  the  university  phrase.  My  wife 
humbugged  that  wretched  Member  of  Parliament  in  a  way 
which  makes  me  shudder,  when  I  think  of  what  hypocrisy  the 
sex  is  capable.  Those  arts  and  dissimulations  with  which  she 
wheedles  others,  suppose  she  exercise  them  on  fuel  Horrible 
thought !  No,  angel  !  To  others  thou  mayest  be  a  coaxing 
hypocrite  ;  to  me  thou  art  all  candor.  Other  men  may  have 
been  humbugged  by  other  women  ;  but  I  am  not  to  be  taken 
in  by  that  sort  of  thing  ;  and  thou  art  all  candor ! 

We  had  then  so  much  per  annum  as  editor.  We  were 
paid,  besides,  for  our  articles.  We  had  really  a  snug  little 
pension  out  of  this  Review.,  and  we  prayed  it  might  last  for 
ever.  We  miaht  write  a  novel.  \\'e  miirht  contribute  articles  to 
a  daily  paper;  get  a  little  parliamentary  practice  as  a  barrister. 


O.V  HIS   WA  Y  TIIROUGIJ  THE  UOKLD.  539 

We  actually  did  get  Philip  into  a  railway  case  or  two,  and  niy 
wife  must  be  coaxing  and  hugging  solicitors'  ladies,  as  she  had 
wheedled  and  coaxed  Members  of  Parliament.  Why,  I  do  be- 
lieve my  Delilah  set  up  a  flirtation  with  old  Bishop  Crossticks, 
with  an  idea  of  getting  her /r^/^'-t'  a  living;  and  though  the 
lady  indignantly  repudiates  this  charge,  will  she  be  pleased  to 
explain  how  the  bishop's  sermons  were  so  outrageously  praised 
in  the  Review  ? 

Philip's  roughness  and  frankness  did  not  displease  Tregar- 
van,  to  the  wonder  of  us  all,  who  trembled  lest  he  should  lose 
this  as  he  had  lost  his  former  place.  Tregarvan  had  more 
country-houses  than  one,  and  at  these  not  only  was  the  editor 
of  the  Revieiu  made  welcome,  but  the  editor's  wife  and  chil- 
dren, whom  Tregarvan's  wife  took  into  especial  regard.  In 
London,  Lady  Mary  had  assemblies  where  our  little  friend 
Charlotte  made  her  appearance  ;  and  half-a-dozen  times  in  the 
course  of  the  season  the  wealthy  Cornish  gentleman  feasted 
his  retainers  of  the  Revieiv.  His  wine  was  excellent  and  old  ; 
his  jokes  were  old,  too  ;  his  table  pompous,  grave,  plentiful. 
If  Philip  was  to  eat  the  bread  of  dependence,  the  loaf  was 
here  very  kindly  prepared  for  him ;  and  he  ate  it  humbly,  and 
with  not  too  much  grumbling.  This  diet  chokes  some  proud 
stomachs  and  disagrees  with  them  ;  but  Philip  was  very  hum- 
ble now,  and  of  a  nature  grateful  for  kindness.  He  is  one 
who  requires  the  help  of  friends,  and  can  accept  benefits 
without  losing  independence — not  all  men's  gifts,  but  some 
men's,  whom  he  repays  not  only  with  coin,  but  with  an  im- 
mense affection  and  gratitude.  How  that  man  did  laugh 
at  my  witticisms  !  How  he  worshipped  the  ground  on  which 
my  wife  walked  !  He  elected  himself  our  champion.  He 
quarrelled  with  other  people  who  found  fault  with  our  char- 
acters, or  would  not  see  our  perfections.  There  was  some- 
thing affecting  in  the  way  in  which  this  big  man  took  the 
humble  place.  We  could  do  no  wrong  in  his  eyes  ;  and  woe 
betide  the  man  who  spoke  disparaingly  of  us  in  his  presence  ! 

One  day,  at  his  patron's  table,  Philip  exercised  his  valor 
and  championship  in  our  behalf  by  defending  us  against  the 
evil  speaking  of  that  Mr.  Trail,  who  has  been  mentioned  before 
as  a  gentleman  difficult  to  please,  and  credulous  of  ill  regarding 
his  neighbor.  The  talk  happened  to  fall  upon  the  character 
of  the  reader's  most  humble  servant,  and  Trail,  as  may  be 
imagined,  spared  me  no  more  than  the  rest  of  mankind. 
Would  you  like  to  be  liked  by  all  people  ?  That  would  be  a 
reason  why  Trail  should  hate  you.     Were  you  an   angel  fresh 


54° 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


dropped  from  the  skies,  he  would  espy  dirt,  on  your  robe,  and 
a  black  feather  or  two  in  your  wing.  As  for  me,  I  know  I  am 
not  angelical  at  all  ;  and  in  walking  my  native  earth,  can't  help 
a  little  mud  on  my  trousers.  Well :  Mr.  Trail  began  to  paint 
my  portrait,  laying  on  those  dark  shadows  which  that  well- 
known  master  is  in  the  habit  of  employing.  I  was  a  parasite 
of  the  nobility  ;  1  was  a  heartless  sycophant,  house-breaker, 
drunkard,  murderer,  returned  convict,  &c.,  &c.  With  a  little 
imagination,  Mrs.  Candour  can  fill  up  the  outline,  and  arrange 
the  colors  so  as  to  suit  her  amiable  fancy. 

Philip  had  come  late  to  dinner  ; — of  this  fault,  I  must  con- 
fess, he  is  guilty  only  too  often.  The  company  were  at  table  ; 
he  took  the  only  place  vacant,  and  this  happened  to  be  at  the 
side  of  Mr.  Trail.  On  Trail's  other  side  was  a  portly  individual, 
of  a  healthy  and  rosy  countenance  and  voluminous  white 
waistcoat,  to  whom  Trail  directed  much  of  his  amiable  talk, 
and  whom  he  addressed  once  or  twice  as  Sir  John.  Once  or 
twice  already  we  have  seen  how  Philip  has  quarrelled  at  table. 
He  cried  7nca  culpa  loudly  and  honestly  enough.  He  made 
vows  of  reform  in  this  particular.  He  succeeded,  dearly  be- 
loved brethren,  not  much  worse  or  better  than  you  or  I  do, 
who  confess  our  faults,  and  go  on  promising  to  improve,  and 
stumbling  and  picking  ourselves  up  every  day.  The  pavement 
of  life  is  strewed  with  orange-peel ;  and  who  has  not  slipped  on 
the  flags  ? 

"  He  is  the  most  conceited  man  in  London," — Trail  was 
going  on,  "  and  one  of  the  most  worldly.  He  will  throw  over 
a  colonel  to  dine  with  a  general.  He  wouldn't  throw  over  you 
two  baronets — he  is  a  great  deal  too  shrewd  a  fellow  for  that. 
He  wouldn't  give  you  up,  perhaps,  to  dine  with  a  lord  ;  but  any 
ordinary  baronet  he  would." 

"  And  why  not  us  as  well  as  the  rest  ?  "  asks  Tregarvan, 
who  seemed  amused  at  the  speaker's  chatter. 

"  Because  you  are  not  like  common  baronets  at  all.  Be- 
cause your  estates  are  a  great  deal  too  large.  Because,  f 
suppose,  you  might  either  of  you  go  to  the  Upper  House  any 
day.  Because,  as  an  author,  he  may  be  supposed  to  be  afraid 
of  a  certain  Review,^''  cries  Trail,  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"Trail  is  speaking  of  a  friend  of  yours,"  said  the  host, 
nodding  and  smiling,  to  the  new-comer. 

"  Very  lucky  for  my  friend,"  growls  Philip,  and  eats  his 
soup  in  silence. 

"  By  the  way,  that  article  of  his  on  Madame  de  Sevign^  is 
poor  stuff.     No  knowledge  of  the  period.     Three  gross  blunders 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD. 


541 


m  French.  A  man  can't  write  of  French  society  unless  he  has 
lived  in  French  society.  What  does  Pendennis  know  of  it  ? 
A  man  who  makes  blunders  like  those  can't  understand  French. 
A  man  who  can't  speak  French  can't  get  on  in  French  society. 
Therefore  he  can't  write  about  French  society.  All  these  prop- 
ositions are  clear  enough.  Thank  you.  Dry  champagne,  if 
you  please.  He  is  enormously  over-rated,  I  tell  you ;  and  so 
is  his  wife.  They  used  to  put  her  forward  as  a  beauty  :  and 
she  is  only  a  dowdy  woman  out  of  a  nurser}-.  She  has  no 
style  about  her." 

"  She  is  only  one  of  the  best  women  in  the  world,"  Mr. 
Firmin  called  out,  turning  very  red  ;  and  hereupon  entered  into 
a  defence  of  characters,  and  pronounced  a  eulogium  upon  both 
and  each  of  us,  in  which  I  hope  there  was  some  little  truth. 
However,  he  spoke  with  great  enthusiasm,  and  Mr.  Trail  found 
himself  in  a  minority. 

"  You  are  right  to  stand  up  for  your  friends,  Firmin  !  " 
cried  the  host.     "  Let  me  introduce  you  to " 

"  Let  me  introduce  myself,"  said  the  gentleman  on  the  other 
side  of  Mr.  Trail.  "  Mr.  Firmin,  you  and  I  are  kinsmen, — I 
am  Sir  John  Ringwood."  And  Sir  John  reached  a  hand  to 
Philip  across  Trail's  chair.  They  talked  a  great  deal  together 
in  the  course  of  the  evening  :  and  when  Mr.  Trail  found  that 
the  great  county  gentleman  was  friendly  and  familiar  with 
Philip,  and  claimed  a  relationship  with  him,  his  manner  towards 
Firmin  altered.  He  pronounced  afterwards  a  warm  eulogy 
upon  Sir  John  for  his  frankness  and  good  nature  in  recognizing 
his  unfortunate  relative,  and  charitably  said,  "  Philip  might  not 
be  like  the  doctor,  and  could  not  help  having  a  rogue  for  a 
father."  In  former  days.  Trail  had  eaten  and  drunken  freely 
at  that  rogue's  table.  But  we  must  have  truth,  you  know, 
before  all  things  :  and  if  your  own  brother  has  committed  a  sin, 
common  justice  requires  that  you  should  stone  him. 

In  former  days,  and  not  long  after  Lord  Ringwood's  death, 
Philip  had  left  his  card  at  this  kinsman's  door,  and  Sir  John's 
butler,  driving  in  his  master's  brougham,  had  left  a  card  upon 
Philip,  who  was  not  over  well  pleased  by  this  acknowledgment 
of  his  civility,  and,  in  fact,  employed  abusive  epithets  when  he 
spoke  of  the  transaction.  But  when  the  two  gentlemen  actually 
met,  their  intercourse  was  kindly  and  pleasant  enough.  Sir 
John  listened  to  his  relative's  talk — and  it  appears,  Philip 
comported  himself  with  his  usual  free  and  easy  manner — with 
interest  and  curiosity  ;  and  owned  afterwards  that  evil  tongues 
had  previously  been  busy  with  the  young  man's  character,  and 


5^2 


■J  III:    AUyiLJ\Jt,/Kt..S    U'l'  /'///LIP 


that  slander  and  untruth  had  been  spoken  regarding  him.  To 
this  respect,  if  Philip  is  worse  off  than  his  neighbors,  I  can  only 
say  his  neighbors  are  fortunate. 

Two  days  after  the  meeting  of  the  cousins,  the  tranquillity 
of  Thornhaugh  Street  was  disturbed  by  the  appearance  of  a 
magnificent  yellow  cnariot,  with  crests,  hammer-cloths,  a  bewig- 
ged  coachman,  and  a  powdered  footman.  Betsy,  the  nurse, 
who  was  going  to  take  baby  out  for  a  walk,  encountered  this 
giant  on  the  threshold  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  door :  and  a  lady 
within  the  chariot  delivered  three  cards  to  the  tall  menial,  who 
transferred  them  to  Betsy.  And  Betsy  persisted  in  saying  that 
the  lady  in  the  carriage  admired  baby  very  much,  and  asked  its 
age,  at  which  baby's  mamma  was  not  in  the  least  surprised.  In 
due  course,  an  invitation  to  dinner  followed,  and  our  friends 
became  acquainted  with  their  kinsfolk. 

If  you  have  a  good  memory  for  pedigrees — and  in  my 
youthful  time  every  man  de  Inmne  maison  studied  genealogies, 
and  had  his  English  families  in  his  memory — you  know  that 
this  Sir  John  Ringwood,  who  succeeded  to  the  principal  portion 
of  the  estates,  but  not  to  the  titles  of  the  late  earl,  was 
descended  from  a  mutual  ancestor,  a  Sir  John,  whose  elder  son 
was  ennobled  (temp  Geo.  I.),  whilst  the  second  son,  following 
the  legal  profession,  became  a  judge,  and  had  a  son,  who 
became  a  baronet,  and  who  begat  that  present  Sir  John  who 
has  just  been  shaking  hands  with   Philip  across  Trail's  back.* 

*  Copied,  by  permission  of  P.  Firmin,  Esq.,  from  the  Genealogical  Tree  in  his  pos* 
session. 

Sir  J.  Ringwood,   Bart., 

of  Wingate  and  Whipham. 

■  b.   1649  ;  ob.   1725. 


Sir  J.,  Bart.,  Sir  Philip,  Knt., 

ist  Baron  Ringwood.  a  Baron  of  the  Exchequer, 

ob.  I 770.  J 


John,  2nd  Baron,  Philip,  Sir  John  Bart-, 

created  Ear!  of  Ringwood  a  Colonel  in  the  Army.  of  the  Hays, 

and  Visct.  Cinqbars.  ob.  1803.  I 


Charles,  Visct.  Cinqbars, 
b.  1802  ;  ob.  i?24. 


Sir  John  of  the  Hays, 

and  now  of 

Wingate  and  Whiphara, 

has  issue. 


Maria,  Louisa, 


b.   1801,  b.   1S02,  Oliver,  Philip, 

md  Talbot  Twysden,  mdG.  B.  Kirmin,  Esq.,M.D.  Hampden,  FrankllB 

and  had  issue.  I  and  daughters. 

Piiii.ip,  b.   1825, 
subject  of  the 
present  Memoir. 


OiV  HIS  WAY  TIIKOUGH  THE    WORLD. 


543 


Thus  the  two  men  were  coushis  ;  and  in  right  of  ilic  heiress, 
his  poor  mother,  Philip  might  quarter  the  Ringwood  arms  on 
his  carriage,  whenever  Jie  drove  out.  I'hese,  you  know,  are 
argent,  a  dexter  sinople  on  a  fesse  wavy  of  the  first — or  pick 
out,  my  dear  friend,  any  coat  you  Uke  out  of  the  whole  heraldic 
wardrobe,  and  accommodate  it  to  our  friend  Firmin. 

When  he  was  a  young  man  at  college,  Philip  had  dabbled  a 
little  in  this  queer  science  of  heraldry,  and  used  to  try  and 
believe  the  legends  about  his  ancestry,  which  his  fond  mother 
imparted  to  him.  He  had  a  great  book-plate  made  for  himself, 
with  a  prodigious  number  of  quarterings,  and  could  recite  the 
alliances  by  which  such  and  such  a  quartering  came  into  his 
shield.  His  father  rather  confirmed  these  histories,  and  spoke 
of  them  and  of  his  wife's  noble  family  with  much  respect ;  and 
Philip,  artlessly  whispering  to  a  vulgar  boy  at  school  that  he 
was  descended  from  King  John,  was  thrashed  very  unkindly  by 
the  vulgar  upper  boy,  and  nicknamed  King  John  for  many  a 
long  day  after.  I  dare  say  many  other  gentlemen  who  profess 
to  trace  their  descent  from  ancient  kings  have  no  better  or 
worse  authority  for  their  pedigree  than  friend  Philip. 

When  our  friend  paid  his  second  visit  to  Sir  John  Ring- 
wood,  he  was  introduced  to  his  kinsman's  library  ;  a  great 
family  tree  hung  over  the  mantel-piece,  surrounded' by  a  whole 
gallery  of  defunct  Ringwoods,  of  whom  the  Baronet  was  now 
the  representative.  He  quoted  to  Philip  the  hackneyed  old 
Ovidian  lines  (some  score  of  years  ago  a  great  deal  of  that  old 
coin  was  current  in  conversation).  As  for  family,  he  said,  and 
ancestors,  and  what  we  have  not  done  ourselves,  these  things 
we  can  hardly  call  ours.  Sir  John  gave  Philip  to  understand 
that  he  was  a  staunch  Liberal.  Sir  John  was  for  going  with 
the  age.  Sir  John  had  fired  a  shot  from  the  Paris  barri^ 
cades.  Sir  John  was  for  the  rights  of  man  everywhere  all  over 
the  world.  He  had  pictures  of  Franklin,  Lafayette,  Washing- 
ton, and  the  First  Consul  Bonaparte,  on  his  walls  along  with 
his  ancestors.  He  had  lithograph  copies  of  Magna  Charta, 
the  Declaration  of  American  Independence,  and  the  Signatures 
to  the  Death  of  Charles  L  He  did  not  scruple  to  own  his 
l^reference  for  republican  institutions.  He  wished  to  know  what 
right  had  any  man — the  late  Lord  Ringwood,  for  example — to 
sit  in  a  hereditary  House  of  Peers  and  legislate  over  him  }  That 
lord  had  had  a  son,  Cinqbars,  who  died  many  years  before,  a 
victim  of  his  own  follies  and  debaucheries.  Had  Lord  Cinqbars 
survived  his  father,  he  would  now  be  sitting  an  earl  in  the 
House  of  Peers  —  the    most- ignorant  young  "man,  the   most 


544 


THE  ADV'EXrURES  OF  nil  LIP 


unprincipled  young  man,  reckless,  dissolute,  of  the  feeblest 
intellect,  and  the  worst  lite.  Well,  had  he  lived  and  inherited 
the  Ringu'ood  property,  that  creature  would  have  been  an  earl : 
whereas  he,  Sir  John,  his  superior  in  morals,  in  character,  in 
intellect,  his  equal  in  point  of  birth  (for  had  they  not  both  a 
common  ancestor?)  was  Sir  John  still.  The  inequalities  in 
men's  chances  in  life  were  monstrous  and  ridiculous.  He  was 
determined,  henceforth,  to  look  at  a  man  for  himself  alone,  and 
not  esteem  him  for  any  of  the  absurd  caprices  of  fortune. 

As  the  republican  was  talking  to  his  relative,  a  servant 
came  into  the  room  and  whispered  to  his  master  that  the 
plumber  had  come  with  his  bill  as  by  appointment  ;  upon 
which  Sir  John  rose  up  in  a  fury,  asked  the  servant  how  he 
dared  to  disturb  him,  and  bade  him  to  tell  the  plumber  to  go 
to  the  lowest  depth  of  Tartarus.  Nothing  could  equal  the 
insolence  and  rapacity  of  tradesmen,  he  said,  except  the  inso- 
lence and  idleness  of  servants ;  and  he  called  this  one  back, 
and  asked  him  how  he  dared  to  leave  the  fire  in  that  state  ? — 
stormed  and  raged  at  him  with  a  volubility  which  astonished 
his  new  acquaintance  ;  and,  the  man  being  gone,  resumed  his 
previous  subject  of  conversation,  viz.,  natural  equality  and  the 
outrageous  injustice  of  the  present  social  system.  After  talking 
for  half  an  hour,  during  which  Philip  found  that  he  himself 
could  hardly  find  an  opportunity  of  uttering  a  word.  Sir  John 
took  out  his  watch,  and  got  up  from  his  chair  ;  at  which  hint 
Philip  too  rose,  not  sorry  to  bring  the  interview  to  an  end. 
And  herewith  Sir  John  accompanied  his  kinsman  into  the  hall, 
and  to  the  street  door,  before  which  the  Baronet's  groom  was 
riding,  leading  his  master's  horse.  And  Philip  heard  the 
Paronet  using  violent  language  to  the  groom,  as  he  had  done 
to  the  servant  within  doors.  Why,  the  army  in  Flanders  did 
not  swear  more  terribly  than  this  admirer  of  republican  institu- 
tions and  advocate  of  the  rights  of  man. 

Philip  was  not  allowed  to  go  away  without  appointing  a  day 
when  he  and  his  wife  would  partake  of  their  kinsman's  hospi- 
tality. On  this  occasion,  Mrs.  Philip  comported  herself  with 
so  much  grace  and  simplicity,  that  Sir  John  and  Lady  Ring- 
wood  pronounced  her  to  be  a  \ery  pleasnig  and  ladylike 
person  ;  and  1  dare  say  wondered  how  a  person  in  her  rank  of 
life  could  have  acquired  manners  that  were  so  refined  and 
agreeable.  Lady  Ringwood  asked  after  the  child  which  she 
had  seen,  praised  its  beauty ;  of  course,  won  the  mother's 
heart,  and  thereby  caused  her  to  speak  with  perhaps  more  free- 
dom than  she  would  otherwise  have  felt  at  a  first  mterview. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  545 

Mrs.  Philip  has  a  dainty  touch  on  the  piano,  and  a  sweet  singing 
voice  that  is  charmingly  true  and  neat.  She  performed  at  the 
dinner  some  of  the  songs  of  her  little  repertoire,  and  pleased  her 
audience.  Lady  Ringwood  loved  good  music,  and  was  herself 
a  fine  performer  of  the  ancient  school,  when  she  played  Haydn 
and  Mozart  under  the  tuition  of  good  old  Sir  George  Thrum. 
The  tall  and  handsome  beneficed  clergyman  who  acted  as 
major-domo  of  Sir  John's  establishment,  placed  a  parcel  in  the 
carriage  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philip  took  their  leave,  and 
announced  with  much  respectful  deference  that  the  cab  was 
paid.  Our  friends  no  doubt  would  have  preferred  to  dispense 
with  this  ceremony  ;  but  it  is  ill  looking  even  a  gift  cab-horse 
in  the  mouth,  and  so  Philip  was  a  gainer  of  some  two  shillings 
by  his  kinsman's  liberality. 

When  Charlotte  came  to  open  the  parcel  which  major-domo, 
with  his  lady's  compliments,  had  placed  in  the  cab,  I  fear  she 
did  not  exhibit  that  elation  which  we  ought  to  feel  for  the  favors 
of  our  friends.  A  couple  of  little  frocks,  of  the  cut  of  George 
IV.,  some  little  red  shoes  of  the  same  period,  some  crumpled 
sashes,  and  other  small  articles  of  wearing  apparel,  by  her  lady- 
ship's order  by  her  ladyship's  lady's-maid  ;  and  Lady  Ringwood 
kissing  Charlotte  at  her  departure,  told  her  that  she  had  caused 
this  little  packet  to  be  put  away  for  her.  "  H'm,"  says  Philip, 
only  half  pleased.  "  Suppose  Sir  John  had  told  his  buder  to 
put  up  one  of  his  blue  coats  and  brass  buttons  for  me,  as  well 
as  pay  the  cab  ?  " 

"  If  it  was  meant  in  kindness,  Philip,  we  must  not  be  angry," 
pleaded  Philip's  wife ; — "  and  I  am  sure  if  you  had  heard  her 
and  the  INIiss  Ringwoods  speak  of  baby,  you  would  like  them, 
as  I  intend  to  do." 

But  Mrs.  Philip  never  put  those  mouldy  old  red  shoes  upon 
baby ;  and  as  for  the  little  frocks,  children's  frocks  are  made 
so  much  fuller  now  that  Lady  Ringwood's  presents  did  not  an- 
swer at  all.  Charlotte  managed  to  furbish  up  a  sash,  and  a 
pair  of  epaulets  for  her  child  —  epaulets  are  they  called? 
Shoulder-knots — what  you  will,  ladies  ;  and  with  these  orna- 
ments Miss  Firmin  was  presented  to  Lady  Ringwood  and  some 
of  her  family. 

The  good-will  of  these  new-found  relatives  of  Philip's  was 
laborious  was  evident,  and  yet  I  must  say  was  not  altogether 
agreeable.  At  the  first  period  of  their  intercourse — for  this, 
too,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  came  to  an  end,  or  presently  suffered 
interruption — tokens  of  affection  in  the  shape  of  farm  produce, 
country  butter  and  poultry,  and  actual  butcher's  meat,  came 

35  I 


546 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


from  Berkeley  Square  to  Thornhaugh  Street.  The  Duke  of 
DoLible-glo'ster  I  know  is  much  richer  than  you  are  ;  but  if  he 
were  to  offer  to  make  you  a  present  of  half-a-crown,  I  doubt 
whether  you  would  be  quite  pleased.  And  so  with  Philip  and 
his  relatives.  A  hamper  brought  in  the  brougham,  containing 
hot-house  grapes  and  country  butter,  is  very  well,  but  a  leg  of 
mutton  I  own  was  a  gift  that  was  rather  tough  to  swallow.  It 
■was  tough.  That  point  we  ascertained  and  established  amidst 
roars  of  laughter  one  day  when  we  dined  with  our  friends. 
Did  Lady  Ringwood  send  a  sack  of  turnips  in  the  brougham 
too  ?  In  a  word,  we  ate  Sir  John's  mutton,  and  we  laughed  at 
him,  and  be  sure  many  a  man  has  done  the  same  by  you  and 
me.  Last  Friday,  for  instance,  as  Jones  and  Brown  go  away 
after  dining  with  your  humble  servant.  "  Did  you  ever  see 
such  profusion  and  extravagance  .-'  "  asks  Brown.  "  Profusion 
and  extravagance  !  "  cries  Jones,  that  well-known  epicure.  "  I 
never  saw  anything  so  shabby  in  my  life.  What  does  the  fellow 
mean  by  asking  mc\.o  such  a  dinner  .''  "  "  True,"  says  the  other, 
"  it  was  an  abominable  dinner,  Jones,  as  you  justly  say  ;  but  it 
was  very  profuse  in  him  to  give  it.  Don't  you  see  ?  "  and  so 
both  our  good  friends  are  agreed. 

Ere  many  days  were  over  the  great  yellow  chariot  and  its 
powdered  attendants  again  made  their  appearance  before  Mrs. 
Brandon's  modest  door  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  Lady  Ring- 
wood  and  two  daughters  descended  from  the  carriage  and  made 
their  way  to  Mr.  Philip's  apartments  in  the  second  floor,  just 
as  that  worthy  gentleman  was  sitting  down  to  dinner  with  his 
wife.  Lady  Ringwood,  bent  upon  being  gracious,  was  in  ecsta- 
sies with  everything  she  saw — a  clean  house — a  nice  little  maid 
— pretty  picturesque  rooms — odd  rooms — and  what  charming 
pictures  !  Several  of  these  were  the  work  of  the  fond  pencil 
of  poor  J.  J.,  who,  as  has  been  told,  had  painted  Philip's  beard 
and  Charlotte's  eyebrow,  and  Charlotte's  baby  a  thousand  and 
a  thousand  times.  "  May  we  come  in  ?  Are  we  disturbing 
you  ?  What  dear  little  bits  of  china  !  What  a  beautiful  mug, 
Mr.  Firmin  !  "  This  was  poor  J.  J. 's  present  to  his  goddaughter. 
■'  How  nice  the  luncheon  looks  !  Dinner,  is  it  ?  How  pleasant 
to  dine  at  this  hour  ! "  •  The  ladies  were  determined  to  be 
charmed  with  everything  round  about  them. 

"  We  are  dining  on  your  poultry.  May  we  offer  some  to  you 
and  Miss  Ringwood,"  says  the  master  of  the  house. 

"Why  don't  you  dine  in  the  dining-room?  Why  do  you 
dine  in  a  bedroom  } "  asks  I-'ranklin  Ringwood,  the  interesting 
young  son  of  the  Baron  of  Ringwood, 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


547 


"Somebody  else  lives  in  the  parlor,"  says  Mrs.  Philip. 
"  On  which  the  boy  remarks,  "  We  have  two  dining-rooms  in 
Berkeley  Square.  I  mean  for  us,  besides  papa's  study,  which 
I  mustn't  go  into.  And  the  servants  have  two  dining-rooms 
and " 

"  Hush  !  "  here  cries  mamma,  with  the  usual  remark  regard- 
ing the  beauty  of  silence  in  little  boys. 

But  Franklin  persists  in  spite  of  the  "  Hushes  !  "  "And  so 
we  have  at  Ringwood  ;  and  at  Whipham  there's  ever  so  many 
dining-rooms — ever  so  many — and  I  like  Whipham  a  great  deal 
better  than  Ringwood,  because  my  pony  is  at  Whipham.  You 
have  not  got  a  pony.     You  are  too  poor." 

"  Franklin  !  " 

"  You  said  he  was  too  poor  ;  and  you  would  not  ha\'e  had 
chickens  if  we  had  not  given  them  to  you.  Mamma,  you  know 
you  said  they  were  very  poor,  and  would  like  them." 

And  here  mamma  looked  red,  and  I  dare  say  Philip's  cheeks 
and  ears  tingled,  and  for  once  Mrs.  Philip  was  thankful  at  hear- 
ing her  baby  cry,  for  it  gave  her  a  pretext  for  leaving  the  room 
and  flying  to  the  nursery,  whither  the  other  two  ladies  accom- 
panied her. 

Meanwhile  Master  Franklin  went  on  with  his  artless  conver- 
sation. "  Mr.  Philip,  why  do  they  say  you  are  wicked  ?  You 
do  not  look  wicked  ;  and  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Philip  does  not  look 
wicked — she  looks  very  good." 

"  Who  says  I  am  wicked  ? "  asks  Mr.  Firmin  of  his  candid 
young  relative. 

"  Oh,  ever  so  many !  Cousin  Ringwood  says  so ;  and 
Blanche  says  so  ;  and  Woolcomb  says  so  ;  only  I  don't  like  him, 
he's  so  ver)^  brown.  And  when  they  heard  you  had  been  to 
dinner,  '  Has  that  beast  been  here  ? '  Ringwood  says.  And  I 
don't  like  him  a  bit.  But  I  like  you,  at  least  I  think  I  do.  You 
only  have  oranges  for  dessert.  We  always  have  lots  of  things 
for  dessert  at  home.  You  don't,  I  suppose,  because  you've  got 
no  money — only  a  very  little." 

"Well :  I  have  got  only  a  very  little,"  says  Philip. 

"I  have  some — ever  so  much.  And  Fll  buy  something  for 
your  wife  ;  and  I  shall  like  to  have  you  better  at  home  than 
Blanche,  and  Ringwood,  and  that  Woolcomb ;  and  they  never 
give  me  anything.  You  can't,  you  know ;  because  you  are  so 
very  poor — you  are  ;  but  we'll  often  send  you  things,  I  dare  say. 
And  I'll  have  an  orange,  please,  thank  you.  And  there's  a 
chap  at  our  school,  and  his  name  is  Suckling,  and  he  ate  eigh- 
teen oranges,  and  wouldn't  give  one  away  to  anybody.     Wasn't 


548  THE  ADVENTURES  OE  riTILIP 

he  a  greedy  pig  ?  And  I  have  wine  with  my  oranges — I  do  :  a 
glass  of  wine — thank  you.  That's  jolly.  But  you  don't  have 
it  often,  I  suppose,  because  you're  so  very  poor." 

I  am  glad  Philip's  infant  could  not  understand,  being  yet 
of  too  tender  age,  the  compliments  which  Lady  Ringwood  and 
her  daughter  passed  upon  her.  As  it  was,  the  compliments 
charmed  the  mother,  for  whom  indeed  they  were  intended,  and 
did  not  inflame  the  unconscious  baby's  vanity. 

What  would  the  polite  mamma  and  sister  have  said  if  they 
had  heard  that  unlucky  Franklin's  prattle  .''  The  boy's  simpli- 
city amused  his  tall  cousin.  "  Yes,"  says  Philip,  "  we  are  very 
poor,  but  we  are  very  happy,  and  don't  mind — that's  the  truth." 

"  Mademoiselle,  that's  the  German  governess,  said  she  won- 
dered how  you  could  live  at  all  ;  and  I  don't  think  you  could  if 
you  ate  as  much  as  she  did.  You  should  see  her  eat ;  she  is 
such  a  oner  at  eating.  Fred,  my  brother,  that's  the  one  who  is 
at  college,  one  day  tried  to  see  how  Mademoiselle  Wallfisch 
could  eat,  and  she  had  twice  of  soup,  and  then  she  said  sivoplay  ; 
and  then  twice  of  fish,  and  she  said  shwplay  for  more  ;  and  then 
she  had  roast  mutton — no,  I  think,  roast  beef  it  was ;  and  she 
eats  the  pease  with  her  knife  ;  and  then  she  had  raspberry  jam 

pudding,  and  ever  so  much  beer,  and  then "     But  what 

came  then  we  never  shall  know ;  because  while  young  Franklin 
was  choking  with  laughter  (accompanied  with  a  large  piece  of 
orange)  at  the  ridiculous  recollection  of  Miss  Wallfisch's  ap- 
petite, his  mamma  and  sister  came  down  stairs  from  Charlotte's 
nursery,  and  brought  the  dear  boy's  conversation  to  an  end. 
The  ladies  chose  to  go  home,  delighted  with  Philip,  baby,  Char- 
lotte. Everything  was  so  proper.  Everything  was  so  nice. 
Mrs.  Firmin  was  so  ladylike.  The  fine  ladies  watched  her,  and 
her  behavior,  with  that  curiosity  which  the  Brobdingnag  ladies 
displayed  when  they  held  up  little  Gulliver  on  their  palms, 
and  saw  him  bow,  smile,  dance,  draw  his  sword,  and  take  off 
his  hat,  just  like  a  man. 


ON  HIS  IVA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  549 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IN   WHICH   THE   DRAWING-ROOMS   ARE    NOT   FURNISHED 
AFTER    ALL. 

We  cannot  expect  to  be  loved  by  a  relative  whom  we  have 
knocked  into  an  illuminated  pond,  and  whose  coat-tails,  pan- 
taloons, nether  limbs,  and  best  feelings  we  have  lacerated  with 
ill  treatment  and  broken  glass.  A  man  whom  you  have  so 
treated  behind  his  back  will  not  be  sparing  of  his  punishment 
behind  yours.  Of  course  all  the  Twysdens,  male  and  female, 
and  Woolcomb,  the  dusky  husband  of  rhrlip's  former  love,  hated 
and  feared,  and  maligned  him  ;  and  were  in  the  habit  of  speak- 
ing of  him  as  a  truculent  and  reckless  savage  and  monster, 
coarse  and  brutal  in  his  language  and  behavior,  ragged,  dirty 
and  reckless  in  his  personal  appearance  ;  reeking  with  smoke, 
perpetually  reeling  in  drink,  indulging  in  oaths,  actions,  laugh- 
ter which  rendered  him  intolerable  in  civilized  society.  The 
Twysdens,  during  Philip's  absence  abroad,  had  been  very 
respectful  and  assiduous  in  courting  the  new  head  of  the  Ring- 
wood  family.  They  had  flattered  Sir  John,  and  paid  court  to 
my  lady.  They  had  been  welcomed  at  Sir  John's  houses  in 
town  and  country.  They  had  adopted  his  politics  in  a  great 
measure,  as  they  had  adopted  the  politics  of  the  deceased  peer. 
They  had  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  abusing  poor  Philip  and 
of  ingratiating  themselves.  They  had  never  refused  any  invita- 
tion from  Sir  John  in  town  or  country,  and  had  ended  by  utterly 
boring  him  and  Lady  Ringwood  and  the  Ringwood  family  in 
general.  Lady  Ringwood  learned  somewhere  how  pitilessly 
Mrs.  Woolcomb  had  jilted  her  cousin  when  a  richer  suitor 
appeared  in  the  person  of  the  West  Indian.  Then  news  came 
how  Philip  had  administered  a  beating  to  Woolcomb,  to  young 
Twysden,  to  a  dozen  who  set  on  him.  The  early  prejudices 
began  to  pass  away.  A  friend  or  two  of  Philip's  told  Ring- 
wood  how  he  was  mistaken  in  the  young  man,  and  painted  a 
portrait  of  him  in  colors  much  more  favorable  than  those  which 
his  kinsfolk  employed.  Indeed,  dear  relations,  if  the  public 
wants  to  know  our  little  faults  and  errors,  I  think  I  know  who 
will  not  grudge  the  requisite  information.  Dear  aunt  Candour, 
are  you  not  still  alive,  and  don't  you  know  what  we  had  for 
dinner  yesterday,  and  the  amount  (monstrous  extravagance  !) 
of  the  washerwoman's  bill  ? 


55<^ 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


Well,  the  Twysden  family  so  bespattered  poor  Philip  with 
abuse,  and  represented  him  as  a  monster  of  such  hideous  mien, 
that  no  wonder  the  Kingwoods  avoided  him.  They  then  began 
to  grow  utterly  sick  and  tired  of  his  detractors.  And  then  Sir 
John,  happening  to  talk  with  his  brother  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment, Tregarvan,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  heard  quite  a 
different  story  regarding  our  friend  to  that  with  which  the  Twys- 
dens  had  regaled  him,  and,  with  no  little  surprise  on  Sir  John's 
part,  was  told  by  Tregarvan  how  honest,  rough,  worthy,  affec- 
tionate and  gentle  this  poor  maligned  fellow  was; how  he  had 
been  sinned  against  by  his  wretch  of  a  father,  whom  he  had  for- 
given and  actually  helped  out  of  his  wretched  means;  and  how 
he  was  making  a  brave  battle  against  poverty,  and  had  a  sweet 
little  loving  wife  and  child,  whom  every  kind  heart  would  will- 
ingly strive  to  help.  Because  people  are  rich  they  are  not  of 
necessity  ogres.  Because  they  are  born  gentlemen  and  ladies 
of  good  degree,  are  in  easy  circumstances,  and  hav.e  a  generous 
education,  it  does  not  follow  that  they  are  heartless  and  will  turn 
their  back  on  a  friend.  JSTois  que  7<ous  park — I  have  been  in  a 
great  strait  of  sickness  near  to  death,  and  the  friends  who  came  to 
help  me  with  every  comfort,  succor,  sympathy  were  actually  gen- 
tlemen, who  lived  in  good  houses,  and  had  a  good  education. 
They  didn't  turn  away  because  I  was  sick,  or  fly  from  me  because 
they  thought  I  was  poor;  on  the  contrary,  hand,  purse,  succor, 
sympathy  were  ready,  and  praise  be  to  heaven.  And  so  too  did 
Philip  find  help  when  he  needed  it,  and  succor  when  he  was  in 
poverty.  Tregarvan,  we  will  own,  was  a  pompous  little  man,  his 
House  of  Commons  speeches  were  dull,  and  his  written  docu- 
ments awfully  slow ;  but  he  had  a  kind  heart  :  he  was  touched 
by  that  picture  which  Laura  drew  of  the  young  man's  poverty, 
and  honesty,  and  simple  hopefulness  in  the  midst  of  hard 
times  :  and  we  haA-e  seen  how  the  European  Review  was  thus 
entrusted  to  Mr.  Philip's  management.  Then  some  artful 
friends  of  Philip's  determined  that  he  should  be  reconciled  to 
his  relations,  who  were  well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  might  serve 
him.  And  I  wish,  dear  reader,  that  your  respectable  relatives 
and  mine  would  bear  this  little  paragraph  in  mind  and  leave  us 
both  handsome  legacies.  Then  Tregarvan  spoke  to  Sir  John 
Ringwood,  and  that  meeting  was  brought  about,  where,  for  once 
at  least,  Mr.  Philip  quarrelled  with  nobody. 

And  now  came  another  little  piece  of  good  luck,  which,  I 
suppose,  must  be  attributed  to  the  same  kind  friend  who  had 
been  scheming  for  Philip's  bcneht,  and  who  is  never  so  happy 
as  when  her  little  plots  for  her  friends'  benefit  can  be  made  to 


ox  HIS  IVA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


551 


succeed.  Yes  :  when  that  arch-jobber — don't  tell  me  ; — I  never 
knew  a  woman  worth  a  pin  who  wasn't — when  that  arch-jobber, 
I  say,  has  achieved  a  job  by  which  some  friend  is  made  happy, 
her  eyes  and  cheeks  brighten  with  triumph.  Whether  she  has 
put  a  sick  man  into  a  hospital,  or  got  a  poor  woman  a  family's 
washing,  or  made  a  sinner  repent  and  return  to  wife,  husband, 
or  what  not,  that  woman  goes  off  and  pays  her  thanks,  where 
thanks  are  due,  with  such  fervor,  with  such  lightsomeness,  with 
such  happiness,  that  I  assure  you  she  is  a  sight  to  behold. 
Hush  !  When  one  sinner  is  saved,  who  are  glad  .''  Some  of  us 
know  a  woman  or  two  pure  as  angels — know,  and  are  thankful. 

When  the  person  about  whom  I  have  been  prattling  has  one 
of  her  benevolent  jobs  on  hand,  or  has  completed  it,  there  is 
a  sort  of  triumph  and  mischief  in  her  manner,  which  I  don't 
know  otherwise  how  to  describe.  She  does  not  understand  my 
best  jokes  at  this  period,  or  answers  them  at  random,  or  laughs 
very  absurdly  and  vacantly.  She  embraces  her  children  wildly, 
and,  at  the  most  absurd  moments,  is  utterly  unmindful  when 
they  are  saying  their  lessons,  prattling  their  little  questions  and 
so  forth.  I  recall  all  these  symptoms  (and  put  this  and  that  to- 
gether, as  the  saying  is)  as  happening  on  one  especial  day, 
at  the  commencement  of  Easter  Term,  eighteen  hundred  and 
never  mind  what — as  happening  on  one  especial  morning  when 
this  lady  had  been  astoundingly  distraite  and  curiously  excited. 
I  now  remember  how,  during  her  children's  dinner-time,  she 
sat  looking  into  the  square  out  of  her  window,  and  scaicely 
attending  to  the  little  innocent  cries  for  mutton  which  the 
children  were  offering  up. 

At  last  there  was  a  rapid  clank  over  the  pavement,  a  tall 
figure  passed  the  parlor  windows,  which  our  kind  friends  know 
look  into  Queen  Square,  and  then  came  a  loud  ring  at  the  bell, 
and  I  thought  the  mistress  of  the  house  gave  an  ah — a  sigh — 
as  though  her  heart  was  relieved. 

The  street  door  was  presently  opened,  and  then  the  dining- 
room  door,  and  Philip  walks  in  with  his  hat  on,  his  blue  eyes 
staring  before  him,  his  hair  flaming  about,  and  "  La,  uncle 
Philip  !  "  cry  the  children.  "  What  have  you  done  to  yourself? 
You  have  shaved  off  your  mustache."     And  so  he  had,  I  declare. 

"  I  say.  Pen,  look  here  1  This  has  been  left  at  chambers  ; 
and  Cassidy  has  sent  it  on  by  his  clerk,"  our  friend  said.  I 
forget  whether  it  has  been  stated  that  Philip's  name  still  re- 
mained on  the  door  of  those  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings, 
where  we  once  heard  his  song  of  "  Dr.  Luther,"  and  were 
present  at  his  call-supper. 


552 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


The  document  which  PhiUp  prockiced  was  actually  a  brief. 
The  papers  were  superscribed,  "  In  rarliament,  Pohvheedle 
and  Tredyddlum  Railway.  To  support  bill,  Mr„  Finnin  ;  re- 
tainer, five  guineas ;  brief,  fifty  guineas ;  consultation,  five 
guineas.  With  you  Mr.  Armstrong,  Sir  J.  Whitworth,  Mr.  Pink- 
erton."  Here  was  a  wonder  of  wonders  !  A  shower  of  gold 
was  poured  out  on  my  friend.  A  light  dawned  upon  me.  The 
proposed  bill  was  for  a  Cornish  line.  Our  friend  Tregarvan 
was  concerned  in  it,  the  line  passing  through  his  property,  and 
my  wife  had  canvassed  him  privately,  and  by  her  wheedling  and 
blandishments  had  persuaded  Tregarvan  to  use  his  interest 
with  the  agents  and  get  Philip  this  welcome  aid. 

Philip  eyed  the  paper  with  a  queer  expression.  He  handled 
it  as  some  men  handle  a  baby.  He  looked  as  if  he  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  it,  and  as  if  he  should  like  to  drop  it.  I 
believe  I  made  some  satirical  remark  to  this  effect  as  I  looked 
at  our  friend  with  his  paper. 

"  He  holds  a  child  beautifully/'  said  my  wife  with  much 
enthusiasm  ;  "  much  better  than  some  people  who  laugh  at  him." 

"  And  he  will  hold  this  no  doubt  much  to  his  credit.  May 
this  be  the  father  of  many  briefs.  May  you  have  bags  full  of 
them  !  "  Philip  has  all  our  good  wishes.  They  did  not  cost 
much,  or  avail  much,  but  they  were  sincere.  I  know  men  who 
can't  for  the  lives  of  them  give  even  that  cheap  coin  of  good 
will,  but  hate  their  neighbors'  prosperity,  and  are  angry  with 
them  when  they  cease  to  be  dependent  and  poor. 

We  have  said  how  Cassidy's  astonished  clerk  had  brought 
the  brief  from  chambers  to  Firmin  at  his  lodgings  at  Mrs.  Bran- 
don's in  Thornhaugh  Street.  Had  a  bailiff  served  him  with  a 
writ,  Philip  could  not  have  been  more  surprised,  or  in  a  greater 
tremor.  A  brief .-'  Grands  Dieux  !  What  was  he  to  do  with 
a  brief  ?  He  thought  of  going  to  bed,  and  being  ill,  or  flying 
from  home,  country,  family.  Brief  ?  Charlotte,  of  course, 
seeing  her  husband  alarmed,  began  to  quake  too.  Indeed,  if 
his  worship's  finger  aches,  does  not  her  whole  body  suffer  1 
But  Charlotte's  and  Philip's  constant  friend,  the  Little  Sister, 
felt  no  such  fear.  '•  Now  there's  this  opening,  you  must  take 
it,  my  dear,"  she  said.     "  Suppose  you  clon't  know  much  about 

law "     "  Much  !  nothing,"  interposed  Philip.     "  You  might 

ask  me  to  play  the  piano  ;  but  as  I  never  happened  to  have 
learned " 

"La  —  don't  tell  me!  You  mustn't  show  a  faint  heart. 
Take  the  business,  and  do  it  as  best  you  can.  You'll  do  it 
better  next  time,  and  next.     The  Bar's  a  gentleman's  business. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  553 

Don't  I  attend  a  judge's  lady,  which  I  remember  her  with  her 
first  in  a  little  bit  of  a  house  in  Bernard  Street,  Russell  Square  ; 
and  now  haven't  I  been  to  her  in  Eaton  Square,  with  a  butler 
and  two  footmen,  and  carriages  ever  so  many  ?  You  may  work 
on  at  your  newspapers,  and  get  a  crust,  and  when  you're  old, 
and  if  you  quarrel — and  you  have  a  knack  of  quarrelling — he 
has,  Mrs.  Firmin.  I  knew  him  before  you  did.  Quarrelsome 
he  is,  and  he  will  be,  though  you  think  him  an  angel,  to  be 
sure. — Suppose  you  quarrel  with  your  newspaper  masters,  and 
your  reviews,  and  that,  you  lose  your  place.  A  gentleman  like 
Mr.  Philip  oughtn't  to  have  a  master,  I  couldn't  bear  to  think 
of  your  going  down  of  a  Saturday  to  the  publishing  office  to 
get  your  wages  like  a  workman." 

"  But  I  am  a  workman,"  interposes  Philip. 

"  La  !  But  do  you  mean  to  remain  one  for  ever  ?  I  would 
rise,  if  I  was  a  man  1 "  said  the  intrepid  little  woman  :  "  I 
would  rise,  or  I'd  know  the  reason  why.  Who  knows  how 
many  in  family  you're  going  to  be  ?  I'd  have  more  spirit  than 
to  live  in  a  second  floor — I  would  !  " 

And  the  Little  Sister  said  this,  though  she  clung  round 
Philip's  child  with  a  rapture  of  fondness  which  she  tried  in  vain 
to  conceal  ;  though  she  felt  that  to  part  from  it  would  be  to 
part  from  her  life's  chief  happiness  ;  though  she  loved  PhiliiD 
as  her  own  son  :  and  Charlotte — well,  Charlotte  for  Philip's 
sake — as  women  love  other  women. 

Charlotte  came  to  her  friends  in  Queen  Square,  and  told  us 
of  the  resolute  Little  Sister's  advice  and  conversation.  She 
knew  that  Mrs.  Brandon  only  loved  her  as  something  belonging 
to  Philip.  She  admired  this  Little  Sister  ;  and  trusted  her ; 
and  could  afford  to  bear  that  little  somewhat  scornful  domina- 
tion which  Brandon  exercised.  "  She  does  not  love  me,  be- 
cause Philip  does,"  Charlotte  said.  "  Do  you  think  I  could 
like  her,  or  any  woman,  if  I  thought  Philip  loved  them  ?  I 
could  kill  them,  Laura,  that  I  could  !  "  And  at  this  sentiment 
I  imagine  daggers  shooting  out  of  a  pair  of  eyes  that  were  or- 
dinarily very  gentle  and  bright. 

Not  having  been  engaged  in  the  case  in  which  Philip  had 
the  honor  of  first  appearing,  I  cannot  enter  into  particulars 
regarding  it,  but  am  sure  that  case  must  have  been  uncommonly 
strong  in  itself  which  could  survive  such  an  advocate.  He 
passed  a  frightful  night  of  torture  before  appearing  in  com- 
mittee-room. During  that  night,  he  says,  his  hair  grew  gray. 
His  old  college  friend  and  comrade  Pinkerton,  who  was  with 
him  in  the  case,  "  coached  "  him  on  the  day  previous ;  and  in- 


524  ^^-^-^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

deed  it  must  be  owned  that  the  work  which  he  had  to  perform 
was  not  of  a  nature  to  impair  the  inside  or  the  outside  of  his 
skull,  A  great  man  was  his  leader;  his  friend  Pinkerton  fol- 
lowed ;  and  all  Mr.  Philip's  business  was  to  examine  a  half- 
dozen  witnesses  by  questions  previously  arranged  between  them 
and  the  agents. 

When  you  hear  that,  as  a  reward  of  his  services  in  this  case, 
Mr.  Firmin  received  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  to  pay  his  mod- 
est family  expenses  for  some  four  months,  I  am  sure,  dear  and 
respected  literary  friends,  that  you  will  wish  the  lot  of  a  parlia- 
mentary barrister  had  been  yours,  or  that  your  immortal  works 
could  be  paid  with  such  a  liberality  as  rewards  the  labors  of  these 
lawyers.  ■ "  Nimnicr  erscheinen  die  Gbtter  allein.^''  After  one 
agent  had  employed  Philip,  another  came  and  secured  his  valu- 
able services  :  him  two  or  three  others  followed,  and  our  friend 
positively  had  money  in  bank.  Not  only  were  apprehensions 
of  poverty  removed  for  the  present,  but  we  had  every  reason  to 
hope  that  Firmin's  prosperity  would  increase  and  continue. 
And  when  a  little  son  and  heir  was  born,  which  blessing  was 
conferred  upon  ]Mr.  Philip  about  a  year  after  his  daughter,  our 
godchild,  saw  the  light,  we  should  have  thought  it  shame  to 
have  any  misgivings  about  the  future,  so  cheerful  did  Philip's 
prospects  appear.  "  Did  I-  not  tell  you,"  said  my  wife,  with 
her  usual  kindling  romance,  "  that  comfort  and  succor  would 
be  found  for  these  in  the  hour  of  their  need  ?  "  Amen.  We 
were  grateful  that  comfort  and  succor  should  come.  No  one, 
I  am  sure,  was  more  humbly  thankful  than  Philip  himself  for 
the  fortunate  chances  which  befell  him. 

He  w^as  alarmed  rather  than  elated  by  his  sudden  pros- 
perity. "  It  can't  last,'*  he  said.  "  Don't  tell  me.  The  attor- 
neys must  find  me  out  before  long.  They  cannot  continue  to 
give  their  business  to  such  an  ignoramus  :  and  I  really  think  I 
must  remonstrate  with  them."  You  should  have  seen  the 
Little  Sister's  indignation  when  Philip  uttered  this  sentiment 
in  her  presence.  "  Give  up  your  business  ?  Yes,  do  !  "  she 
cried,  tossing  up  Philip's  youngest  born.  "  Fling  this  baby  out 
of  window,  why  not  indeed,  which  heaven  has  sent  it  you  !  You 
ought  to  go  down  on  your  knees  and  ask  pardon  for  having 
thought  anything  so  wicked."  Philip's  heir,  by  the  way,  imme- 
diately on  his  entrance  into  the  world,  had  become  the  prime 
favorite  of  this  unreasoning  woman.  The  little  daughter  was 
passed  over  as  a  little  person  of  no  account,  and  so  began  to 
entertain  the  passion  of  jealousy  at  almost  the  very  earliest  age 
at  which  even  the  female  breast  is  capable  of  enjoying  it. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THKOUGIl  THE  WORLD.  555 

And  though  this  Little  Sister  loved  all  these  people  with 
an  almost  ferocious  passion  of  love,  and  lay  awake,  1  believe, 
hearing  their  infantine  cries,  or  crept  on  stealthy  feet  in  dark- 
ness to  their  mother's  chamber  door,  behind  which  they  lay 
sleeping ;  though  she  had,  as  it  were,  a  rage  for  these  infants, 
and  was  wretched  out  of  their  sight,  yet,  when  a  third  and  a 
fourth  brief  came  to  Philip,  and  he  was  enabled  to  put  a  little 
money  aside,  nothing  would  content  Mrs.  Brandon  but  that  he 
should  go  into  a  house  of  his  own.  "  A  gentleman,"  she  said, 
"  ought  not  to  live  in  a  two-pair  lodging  ;  he  ought  to  have  a 
house  of  his  own."  So,  you  see,  she  hastened  on  the  prepara- 
tions for  her  own  execution.  She  trudged  to  the  brokers'  shops 
and  made  wonderful  bargains  of  furniture.  She  cut  chintzes, 
and  covered  sofas,  and  sewed,  and  patched,  and  fitted.  She 
found  a  house  and  took  it — Milman  Street,  Guildford  Street, 
opposite  the  Fondling  (as  the  dear  little  soul  called  it),  a  most 
genteel,  quiet  little  street,  "  and  quite  near  for  me  to  come," 
she  said,  "  to  see  my  dears."  Did  she  speak  with  dry  eyes  ? 
Mine  moisten  sometimes  when  I  think  of  the  faith,  of  the  gen- 
erosity, of  the  sacrifice,  of  that  devoted,  loving  creature. 

I  am  very  fond  of  Charlotte.  Her  sweetness  and  simplicity 
won  all  our  hearts  at  home.  No  wife  or  mother  ever  was  more 
attached  and  affectionate  ;  but  I  own  there  was  a  time  when  I 
hated  her,  though  of  course  that  highly  principled  woman,  the 
wife  of  the  author  of  the  present  memoirs,  says  that  the  state- 
ment I  am  making  here  is  stuff  and  nonsense,  not  to  say  im- 
moral and  irreligious.  Well,  then,  I  hated  Charlotte  for  the 
horrible  eagerness  which  she  showed  in  getting  away  from  this 
Little  Sister,  who  clung  round  those  children,  whose  first  cries 
she  had  heard.  I  hated  Charlotte  for  a  cruel  happiness  which 
she  felt  as  she  hugged  the  children  to  her  heart :  her  own 
children  in  their  own  room,  whom  she  would  dress,  and  watch, 
and  wash,  and  tend  ;  and  for  whom  she  wanted  no  aid.  No 
aid,  entendez-vous  !  Oh,  it  was  a  shame,  a  shame  !  In  the  new 
house,  in  the  pleasant  little  trim  new  nursery  (fitted  up  by 
whose  fond  hands  we  will  not  say),  is  the  mother  glaring  over 
the  cot,  where  the  little,  soft,  round  cheeks  are  pillowed  ;  and 
yonder  in  the  rooms  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  where  she  has 
tended  them  for  two  years,  the  Little  Sister  sits  lonely,  as  the 
moonlight  streams  in.  God  help  thee,  little  suffering  faithful 
heart !  Never  but  once  in  her  life  before  had  she  known  so 
exquisite  a  pain. 

Of  course,  we  had  an  entertainment  in  the  new  house  ;  and 
Philip's  friends,  old  and  new,  came  to  the  house-warming.    The 


256  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

family  coach  of  the  Ringwoods  blocked  up  that  astonished  little 
street.  The  powder  on  their  footmen's  heads  nearly  brushed 
the  ceiling,  as  the  monsters  rose  when  the  guests  passed  in  and 
out  of  the  hall.  The  Little  Sister  merely  took  charge  of  the 
tea-room.  Philip's  "  library  "  was  that  usual  little  cupboard 
beyond  the  dining-room.  The  little  drawing-room  was  dread- 
fully crowded  by  an  ex-nursery  piano,  which  the  Ringwoods 
bestowed  upon  their  friends  ;  and  somebody  was  in  duty  bound 
to  play  upon  it  on  the  evening  of  this  soiree;  though  the 
Little  Sister  chafed  down  stairs  at  the  music.  In  fact  her  very 
words  were  "  Rat  that  piano  !  "  She  "  ratted  "  the  instru- 
ment, because  the  music  would  wake  her  little  dears  up  stairs, 
And  that  music  did  wake  them  ;  and  they  howled  melodiously, 
and  the  Little  Sister,  who  was  about  to  serve  Lady  Jane 
Tregarvan  with  some  tea,  dashed  up  stairs  to  the  nursery  :  and 
Charlotte  had  reached  the  room  already  :  and  she  looked  angry 
when  the  Little  Sister  came  in  :  and  she  said,  "  I  am  sure,  Mrs. 
Brandon,  the  people  down  stairs  will  be  wanting  their  tea  ;  " 
and  she  spoke  with  some  asperity.  And  Mrs.  Brandon  went 
down  stairs  without  one  word  ;  and,  happening  to  be  on  the 
landing,  conversing  with  a  friend,  and  a  little  out  of  the  way  of 
the  duet  which  the  Miss  Ringwoods  were  performing  — 
riding  their  great  old  horse,  as  it  were,  and  putting  it  through 
its  paces  in  Mrs.  Firmin's  little  paddock  ; — happening,  I  say,  to 
be  on  the  landing  when  Caroline  passed,  I  took  a  hand  as  cold 
as  stone,  and  never  saw  a  look  of  grief  more  tragic  than  that 
worn  by  her  poor  little  face  as  it  passed.  "  My  children  cried," 
she  said,  "  and  I  went  up  to  the  nursery.  But  she  don't  want 
me  there  now."  Poor  Little  Sister  !  She  humbled  herself  and 
grovelled  before  Charlotte.  You  could  not  help  trampling 
upon  her  then,  madam  ;  and  I  hated  you — and  a  great  number 
of  other  women.  Ridley  and  I  went  down  to  her  tea-room, 
where  Caroline  resumed  her  place.  She  looked  very  nice  and 
pretty,  with  her  pale  sweet  face,  and  her  neat  cap  and  blue 
ribbon.  Tortures  I  know  she  was  suffering.  Charlotte  had 
been  stabbing  her.  Women  will  use  the  edge  sometimes,  and 
drive  the  steel  in.  Charlotte  said  to  me,  some  time  afterwards, 
I  was  jealous  of  her,  and  you  were  right ;  and-  a  dearer,  more 
faithful  creature  never  lived."  But  who  told  Charlotte  I  said 
she  was  jealous  ?  O  fool !  I  told  Ridley,  and  Mr.  Ridley  told 
Mrs.  Firmin. 

If  Charlotte  stabbed  Caroline,  Caroline  could  not  help 
coming  back  again  and  again  to  the  knife.  On  Sundays,  when 
she  was  free,  there  was  always  a  place  for  her  at  Philip's  modest 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  557 

table  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Philip  went  to  church,  Caroline  was 
allowed  to  reign  in  the  nursery.  Sometimes  Charlotte  was 
generous  enough  to  give  Mrs.  Brandon  this  chance.  When 
Philip  took  a  house  —  a  whole  house  to  himself — Philip's 
mother-in-law  proposed  to  come  and  stay  with  him,  and  said 
chat,  wishing  to  be  beholden  to  no  one,  she  would  pay  for  her 
board  and  lodging.  But  Philip  declined  this  treat,  represent- 
ing, justly,  that  his  present  house  was  no  bigger  than  his  former 
lodgings.  "  My  poor  love  is  dying  to  have  me,"  Mrs.  Paynes 
remarked  on  this.  "  But  her  husband  is  so  cruel  to  her,  and 
keeps  her  under  such  terror,  that  she  dares  not  call  her  life  her 
own."  Cruel  to  her !  Charlotte  was  the  happiest  of  the  happy 
in  her  Httle  house.  In  consequence  of  his  parliamentary  suc- 
cess, Philip  went  regularly  to  chambers  now,  in  the  fond  hope 
that  more  briefs  might  come.  At  chambers  he  likewise  con- 
ducted the  chief  business  of  his  Reviezv :  and,  at  the  accus- 
tomed hour  of  his  return,  that  usual  little  procession  of  mother 
and  child  and  nurse  would  be  seen  on  the  watch  for  him  ;  and 
the  young  woman  —  the  happiest  woman  in  Christendom  — 
would  walk  back  clinging  on  her  husband's  arm. 

All  this  while  letters  came  from  Philip's  dear  father  at  New 
York,  where,  it  appeared,  he  was  engaged  not  only  in  his 
jDrofession,  but  in  various  speculations,  with  which  he  was 
always  about  to  make  his  fortune.  One  day  Philip  got  a 
newspaper  advertising  a  new  insurance  company,  and  saw,  to 
his  astonishment,  the  announcement  of  "  Counsel  in  London, 
Philip  Firmin,  Esq.,  Parchment  Buildings,  Temple."  A  pater- 
nal letter  promised  Philip  great  fees  out  of  this  insurance 
company,  but  I  never  heard  that  poor  Philip  was  any  the 
richer.  In  fact  his  friends  advised  him  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  this  insurance  company,  and  to  make  no  allusion  to  it  in 
his  letters.  "They  feared  the  Danai,  and  the  gifts  they 
brought,"  as  old  Firmin  would  have  said.  They  had  to 
impress  upon  Philip  an  abiding  mistrust  of  that  wily  old  Greek, 
his  father.  Firmin  senior  always  wrote  hopefully  and  magnifi- 
cently, and  persisted  in  believing  or  declaring  that  ere  very 
long  he  should  have  to  announce  to  Philip  that  his  fortune  was 
made.  He  speculated  in  Wall  Street,  I  don't  know  in  what 
shares,  inventions,  mines,  railways.  One  day,  some  few  months 
after  his  migration  to  Milman  Street,  Philip,  blushing  and 
hanging  down  his  head,  had  to  tell  me  that  his  father  had 
drawn  upon  him  again.  Had  he  not  paid  up  his  shares  in  a 
certain  mine,  they  would  have  been  forfeited,  and  he  and  his 
son  after  him  would  have  lost  a  certain  fortune,  old  Danaus 


^^8  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  F HI  LIP 

said.  I  fear  an  artful,  a  long-bow-pulling  Danaus.  What, 
shall  a  man  have  birth,  wealth,  friends,  high  position,  and  end 
so  that  we  dare  not.  leave  him  alone  in  the  room  with  our 
spoons  ?  "  And  you  have  paid  this  bill  which  the  old  man 
drew?"  we  asked.  Yes,  Philip  had  paid  the  bill.  He  vowed 
he  would  pay  no  more.  But  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  the 
doctor  would  draw  more  bills  upon  this  accommodating  banker. 
''I  dread  the  letters  which  begin  with  a  flourish  about  the  for- 
tune which  he  is  just  going  to  make,"  Philip  said.  He  knew 
that  the  old  parent  prefaced  his  demands  for  money  in  that 
way. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  a  great  medical  discovery  which 
he  had  announced  to  his  correspondent,  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  by 
which  the  doctor  declared  as  usual  that  he  was  about  to  make 
a  fortune.  In  New  York  and  Boston  he  had  tried  experiments 
which  had  been  attended  with  the  most  astonishing  success. 
A  remedy  was  discovered,  the  mere  sale  of  which  in  Europe 
and  America  must  bring  an  immense  revenue  to  the  fortunate 
inventors.  For  the  ladies  whom  Mrs.  Brandon  attended,  the 
remedy  was  of  priceless  value.  He  would  send  her  some.  His 
friend.  Captain  Morgan,  of  the  Southampton  packet-ship,  would 
bring  her  some  of  this  astonishing  medicine.  Let  her  try  it. 
Let  her  show  the  accompanying  cases  to  Doctor  Goodenough 
— to  any  of  his  brother  physicians  in  London.  Though  himself 
an  exile  from  his  country,  he  loved  it,  and  was  proud  in  being 
able  to  confer  upon  it  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  with  which 
science  had  endowed  mankind. 

Goodenough,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  had  such  a  mistrust  of  his 
confrere  X\\-aX.  he  chose  to  disbelieve  any  statement  Firmin  made. 
"  I  don't  believe,  my  good  Brandon,  the  fellow  has  nous  enough 
to  light  upon  any  scientific  disco\ery  more  useful  than  a  new 
sauce  for  cutlets.  He  invent  anything  but  fibs,  never  !  "  You 
see  this  Goodenough  is  an  obstinate  old  heathen ;  and  when  he 
has  once  found  reason  to  mistrust  a  man,  he  for  ever  after 
declines  to  believe  him. 

However,  the  doctor  is  a  man  for  ever  on  the  look-out  for 
more  knowledge  of  his  profession,  and  for  more  remedies  to 
benefit  mankind  :  he  hummed  and  ha'd  over  the  pamphlet,  as 
the  Little  Sister  sat  watching  him  in  his  study.  He  clapped  it 
down  after  a  while,  and  slapped  his  hands  on  his  little  legs  as 
his  wont  is.  "Brandon,"  he  says,  "I  think  there  is  a  great 
deal  in  it,  and  I  think  so  the  more  because  it  turns  out  that 
Firmin  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  discovery,  which  has  been 
made  at  Boston."     In  fact,  Dr.  Firmin,  late  of  London,  had 


ON  HIS  WAY  TIIROUCrr  T//E  WORLD. 


559 


only  been  present  in  the  Boston  hospital,  where  the  experiments 
were  made  with  the  new  remedy.  He  had  cried  "  Halves,"  and 
proposed  to  sell  it  as  a  secret  remedy,  and  the  bottle  which  he 
forwarded  to  our  friend  the  Little  Sister  was  labelled  "  Firmin's 
Anodyne."  What  Firmin  did,  indeed,  was  what  he  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  doing.  He  had  taken  another  man's  property, 
and  was  endeavoring  to  make  a  flourish  with  it.  The  Little 
Sister  returned  home,  then,  with  her  bottle  of  Chloroform — for 
this  was  what  Dr.  Firmin  chose  to  call  his  discovery,  and  he 
had  sent  home  a  specimen  of  it;  as  he  sent  home  a  cask  of 
petroleum  from  Virginia  ;  as  he  sent  proposals  for  new  railways 
upon  which  he  promised  Philip  a  munificent  commission,  if  his 
son  could  but  place  the  shares  amongst  his  friends. 

And  with  regard  to  these  valuables,  the  sanguine  doctor  got 
to  believe  that  he  really  was  endowing  his  son  with  large  sums 
of  money.  "  My  boy  has  set  up  a  house,  and  has  a  wife  and 
two  children,  the  young  jackanapes  !  "  he  would  saj'-  to  people 
in  New  York  ;  "  as  if  he  had  not  been  extravagant  enough  in 
former  days  !  When  I  married,  I  had  private  means,  and 
married  a  nobleman's  niece  with  a  large  fortune.  Neither 
of  these  two  young  folks  has  a  penny.  Well,  well,  the  old  fathei 
must  help  them  as  well  as  he  can  !  "  And  I  am  told  there  were 
ladies  who  dropped  the  tear  of  sensibility,  and  said,  "What  a 
fond  father  this  doctor  is  !  How  he  sacrifices  himself  for  that 
scapegrace  of  a  son  !  Think  of  the  dear  doctor  at  his  age,  toil- 
ing cheerfully  for  that  young  man,  who  helped  to  ruin  him !  " 
And  Firmin  sighed ;  and  passed  a  beautiful  white  handkerchief 
over  his  eyes  with  a  beautiful  white  hand  ;  and,  I  believe,  really 
cried ;  and  thought  himself  quite  a  good,  affectionate,  injured 
man.  He  held  the  plate  at  church  ;  he  looked  very  handsome 
and  tall,  and  bowed  with  a  charming  melancholy  grace  to  the 
ladies  as  they  put  in  their  contributions.  The  dear  man  !  His 
plate  was  fuller  than  other  people's — so  a  traveller  told  us  who 
saw  him  in  New  York ;  and  described  a  very  choice  dinner 
which  the  doctor  gave  to  a  few  friends,  at  one  of  the  smartest 
hotels  just  then  opened. 

With  all  the  Little  Sister's  good  management  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Philip  were  only  able  to  install  themselves  in  their  new  house 
at  a  considerable  expense,  and  beyond  that  great  Ringwood 
piano  which  swaggered  in  Philip's  little  drawing-room,  I  am 
constrained  to  say  that  there  was  scarce  any  furniture  at  all. 
One  of  the  railway  accounts  was  not  paid  as  yet,  and  poor 
Philip  could  not  feed  upon  mere  paper  promises  to  pay.  Nor 
was  he  inclined  to  accept  the  offers  of  private  friends,  who  were 


560  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

willing  enough  to  be  his  bankers,  "  One  in  a  family  is  enough 
for  that  kind  of  business,"  he  said,  gloomily ;  and  it  came  out 
that  again  and  again  the  interesting  exile  at  New  York  who 
was  deploring  his  son's  extravagance  and  foolish  marriage,  had 
drawn  bills  upon  Philip  which  our  friend  accepted  and  paid — ■ 
bills,  who  knows  to  what  amount  ?  He  has  never  told  ;  and 
the  engaging  parent  who  robbed  him — must  I  use  a  word 
so  unpolite  ? — will  never  now  tell  to  what  extent  he  helped 
himself  to  Philip's  small  means.  This  I  know,  that  when  au- 
tumn came — when  September  was  past — we  in  our  cozy  little 
retreat  at  the  sea-side  received  a  letter  from  the  Little  Sister,  in 
her  dear  little  bad  spelling  (about  which  there  used  to  be 
somehow  a  pathos  which  the  very  finest  writing  does  not 
possess) ;  there  came,  I  say,  a  letter  from  the  Little  Sister  in 
which  she  told  us,  with  many  dashes,  that  dear  Mrs.  Philip  and 
the  children  were  pining  and  sick  in  London,  and  "  that  Philip, 
he  had  too  much  pride  and  spirit  to  take  money  from  any  one  \ 
that  Mr.  Tregarvan  was  away  travelling  on  the  continent,  and 
that  wretch — that  monster,  you  know  luho — have  drawn  upon 
Philip  again  for  money,  and  again  he  have  paid,  and  the  dear, 
dear  children  can't  have  fresh  air." 

"  Did  she  tell  you,"  said  Philip,  brushing  his  hands  across 
his  eyes  when  a  friend  came  to  remonstrate  with  him,  "  did  she 
tell  you  that  she  brought  me  money  herself,  but  we  would  not 
use  it .''  Look !  I  have  her  little  marriage  gift  yonder  in 
my  desk,  and  pray  God  I  shall  be  able  to  leave  it  to  my  chil- 
dren. The  fact  is,  the  doctor  has  drawn  upon  me  as  usual ;  he 
is  going  to  make  a  fortune  next  week.  I  have  paid  another 
bill  of  his.  The  parliamentary  agents  are  out  of  town,  at  their 
moors  in  Scotland,  I  suppose.  The  air  of  Russell  Square 
is  uncommonly  wholesome,  and  when  the  babies  have  had 
enough  of  that,  why,  they  must  change  it  for  Brunswick  Square. 
Talk  about  the  country  !  what  country  can  be  more  quiet 
than  Guildford  Street  in  September  ?  1  stretch  out  of  a  morn- 
ing, and  breathe  the  mountain  air  on  Ludgate  Hill."  And 
with  these  dismal  pleasantries  and  jokes  our  friend  chose  to 
put  a  good  face  upon  bad  fortune.  The  kinsmen  of  Ringwood 
offered  hospitality  kindly  enough,  but  how  was  poor  Philip  to 
pay  railway  expenses  for  servants,  babies,  and  wife  ?  In  this 
strait  Tregarvan  from  abroad,  having  found  out  some  monstrous 

design  of   Russ of  the  great   Power  of  which   he   stood 

in  daily  terror,  and  which,  as  we  are  in  strict  amity  with  that 
Power,  no  other  Power  shall  induce  me  to  name — Tregarvan 
wrote  to  his  editor,  and  communicated  to  him  in  confidence  a 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  ^6i 

most  prodigious  and  nefarious  plot  against  the  liberties  of  all 
the  rest  of  Europe,  in  which  the  Power  in  question  was  engaged, 
and  in  a  postscript  added,  "  By  the  wa}^,  the  Michaelmas 
quarter  is  due,  and  I  send  you  a  check,"  &c.,  &c.  O  precious 
postscript. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  it  would  be  so  ? "  said  my  wife,  with 
a  self-satisfied  air.  "  Was  I  not  certain  that  succor  would 
come  ?  " 

And  succor  did  come,  sure  enough  ;  and  a  very  happy 
little  party  went  down  to  Brighton  in  a  second-class  carriage, 
and  got  an  extraordinary  cheap  lodging,  and  the  roses  came 
back  to  the  little  pale  cheeks,  and  mamma  was  wonderfully 
invigorated  and  refreshed,  as  all  her  friends  could  have  seen 
when  the  little  family  came  back  to  town,  only  there  was  such  a 
thick  dun  fog  that  it  was  impossible  to  see  complexions  at  all. 

When  the  shooting  season  was  come  to  an  end,  the 
parliamentary  agents  who  had  employed  Philip  came  back  to 
London  :  and,  I  am  happy  to  say,  gave  him  a  check  for  his 
little  account.  My  wife  cried,  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  so  >  "  more 
than  ever.  "  Is  not  everything  for  the  best }  I  knew  dear 
Philip  would  prosper  !  " 

"  Everything  was  for  the  best,  was  it  ?  Philip  was  sure  to 
prosper,  was  he  t  \Miat  do  you  think  of  the  next  news  which 
the  poor  fellow  brought  to  us  ?  One  night  in  December  he 
came  to  us,  and  I  saw  by  his  face  that  some  event  of  import- 
ance had  befallen  him. 

"  I  am  almost  heart-broken,"  he  said,  thumping  on  the  table 
when  the  young  ones  had  retreated  from  it.  "  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  I  have  not  told  you  all.  I  have  paid  four  bills  for 
him  already,  and  now  he  has he  has  signed  my  name." 

"Who  has?" 

"  He  at  New  York.  You  know,"  said  poor  Philip.  "  I  tell 
you  he  has  put  my  name  on  a  bill,  and  without  my  authority." 

"Gracious  heavens!     You  mean  your  father  has  for " 

I  could  not  say  the  word. 

"  Yes,"  groaned  Philip.  "  Here  is  a  letter  from  him  ;  "  and 
he  handed  a  letter  across  the  table  in  the  doctor's  well-known 
handwriting. 

"Dearest  Philip,"  the  father  \wote,  "  a  sad  misfortune  has  befallen  me,  which  I  had 
hoped  to  conceal,  or  at  any  rate,  to  avert  from  my  dear  son.  For  you,  Philip,  are  a  partici- 
pator in  that  misfortune  through  the  imprudence— must  I  say  it  ?— of  your  father.  Would 
I  had  struck  off  the  hand  which  has  done  the  deed,  ere  it  had  been  done  !  But  the  fault 
has  taken  wings  and  flown  out  if  my  reach.  Iimneritus,  dear  boy,  you  have  to  suffer  for 
the  delicia  ntajorum.  Ah,  that  a  father  should  have  to  own  his  fault ;  to  kneel  and  ask 
pardon  of  his  son  ! 

"I  am  engaged  in  many  speculations.    Some  have  succeeded  beyond  my  wildest  hope ; 

36 


56^ 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  F HI  LIP 


some  have  t.lkcii  in  tlie  most  rntional,  the  most  iiriulont,  tlic  least  sanguine  oi  our  capitalists 
in  Wall  Street,  and,  promising  the  greatest  results, have  ended  in  the  most  extreme 
failure  !  To  meet  a  call  in  an  undertaking  which  seemed  to  offer  the  most  certain  pros- 
pects of  success,  which  seemed  to  promise  a  fortune  for  me  and  my  boy,  and  your  dear 
children,  J  put  in  amongst  other  securities  which  I  had  to  realize  on  a  sudden,  a  bill,  on 
which  I  used  your  name.  I  dated  it  as  drawn  six  months  back  by  me  at  New  York,  on  you 
at  Parchment  Buildings,  Temple ;  and  I  wrote  your  acceptance,  as  though  the  signature 
weri  yours.  I  give  myself  up  to  you.  I  tell  you  what  I  have  done.  Make  the  matter 
public.  Give  my  confession  to  the  world,  as  here  I  write,  and  sign  it,  and  your  father  is 
branded  for  over  to  the  world  as  a Spare  me  the  word  ! 

"  As  1  live,  as  I  hope  for  your  forgiveness,  long  ere  that  bill  became  due — it  is  at  five 
months'  dale,  for  3SC'/.  ^s.  zd.  v.ilue  received,  and  dated  from  the  Temple,  on  the  4th  of 
July — I  passed  it  to  one  who  promised  to  keep  it  until  I  myself  should  redeem  it!  The 
commission  which  he  charged  me  was  oiortiious,  rascally;  and  not  content  with  the 
immense  interest  which  he  extorted  from  me,  the  scoundrel  has  passed  the  bill  away,  and  it 
is  in  Europe,  in  the  hands  of  an  enemy. 

"  You  remember  Tufton  Hunt?  Yes.  You  tnost  jtistly  chastised  him.  The  wretch 
lately  made  his  detested  appearance  in  this  city,  associated  with  the  lowest  of  the  base,  and 
endeavored  to  resume  his  old  practice  of  threats,  cajoleries,  and  extortions !  In  a  fatal 
//io«r  the  villain  heard  of  the  bill  of  which  I  have  warned  you.  He  purchased  't  from  the 
gambler,  to  whom  it  had  been  passed.  As  New  York  was  speedily  too  hot  to  hold  him  {for 
the  utihap/'y  man  has  even  left  me  to  fay  his  hotel  score)  he  has  fled— and  fled  to  Europe — 
taking  with  him  that  fatal  bill,  which  he  says  he  knows  you  will  pay.  Ah.'  clear  Philip,  if 
that  bill  were  but  once  out  of  the  wretch's  hands  1  What  sleepless  hours  of  agony  should 
I  be  spared!  I  pray  you,  I  implore  you,  make  every  sacrifice  to  meet  it!  You  will  not 
disown  it  i*  No.  As  you  have  children  of  your  own — as  you  love  them — you  would  not 
willingly  let  them  leave  a  dishonored 

"  Father." 

"  I  have  a  share  in  a  great  medical  discovery,*  regarding  wliich  I  have  written  to  our 
friend,  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  which  is  sure  to  realize  an  immense  profit,  as  introduced  into 
England  by  a  physician  so  well  known — may  I  not  say  professionally  ?  respected  as  itiyself. 
The  very  first  profits  resulting  from  that  discovery  I  promise,  on  my  honor,  tn  devote  to 
you.  They  will  verj'  soony^?'  more  than  repay  the  loss  which  my  inprudencc  has  brought 
on  my  dear  boy.     Farewell  1     Love  to  your  wife  and  little  ones. — G.  B.  F." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

NEC    PLENA    CRUORIS    HIRUDO. 


The  reading  of  this  precious  letter  filled  Philip's  friend 
with  an  inward  indignation  which  it  was  very  hard  to  control 
or  disguise.  It  is  no  pleasant  task  to  tell  a  gentleman  that  his 
father  is  a  rogue.  Old  Firmin  would  have  been  hanged  a  few 
years  earlier,  for  practices  like  these.  As  you  talk  with  a  very 
great  scoundrel,  or  with  a  madman,  has  not  the  respected 
reader  sometimes  reflected,  with  a  grim  self-humiliation,  how 
the  fellow  is  of  our  own  kind  ;  and  /lojrw  est  i  Let  us,  dearly 
beloved,  who  are  outside — I  mean  outside  the  hulks  or  the 
asylum — be  thankful  that  we  have  to  pay  a  barber  for  snipping 

*  /'Ether  was  first  employed,  I  believe,  in  America  ;  .and  I  liape  the  reader  will  exctise 
the  substitution  of  Chloroform  in  tliis  instance. — W.  M.  T. 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  563 

our  hair,  and  are  entrusted  with  the  choice  of  the  cut  of  our 
own  jerkins.  As  poor  Philip  read  his  father's  letter,  my 
thought  was :  "  And  I  can  remember  the  soft  white  hand  of 
that  scoundrel,  which  has  just  been  forging  his  own  son's  name, 
putting  sovereigns  into  my  own  palm,  when  I  was  a  schoolboy." 
I  always  liked  that  man  : — but  the  story  is  not  dc7ne — it  regards 
Philip. 

"  You  won't  pay  this  bill  ?  "  Philip's  friend  indignantly  said, 
then. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  says  poor  Phil,  shaking  a  sad  head. 

"  You  are  not  worth  five  hundred  pounds  in  the  world," 
remarks  the  friend. 

"  Who  ever  said  I  was  ?  I  am  worth  this  bill :  or  my  credit 
is,"  answers  the  victim. 

"  If  you  pay  this,  he  will  draw  more." 

"  I  dare  say  he  will :  "  that  Firmin  admits. 

"  And  he  will  continue  to  draw  as  long  as  there  is  a  drop  of 
blood  to  be  had  out  of  you." 

"  Yes,"  owns  poor  Philip,  putting  a  finger  to  his  lip.  He 
thought  I  might  be  about  to  speak.  His  artless  wife  and  mine 
were  conversing  at  that  moment  upon  the  respective  merits  of 
some  sweet  chintzes  which  they  had  seen  at  Shoolbred's,  in 
Tottenham  Court  Road,  and  which  were  so  cheap  and  pleas- 
ant, and  lively  to  look  at !  Really  those  drawing-room  curtains 
would  cost  scarcely  anything  !  Our  Regulus,  you  see,  before 
stepping  into  his  torture-tub,  was  smiling  on  his  friends,  and 
talking  upholstery  with  a  cheerful,  smirking  countenance.  On 
chintz,  or  some  other  household  errand,  the  ladies  went  prat- 
tling off  :  but  there  was  no  care,  save  for  husband  and  chil- 
dren, in  Charlotte's  poor  little  innocent  heart  just  then. 

"  Nice  to  hear  her  talking  about  sweet  drawing-room 
chintzes,  isn't  it  ?  "  says  Philip.  "  Shall  we  try  Shoolbred's 
or  the  other  shop  ?  "  And  then  he  laughs.  It  was  not  a  very 
lively  laugh. 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  determined,  then,  on '' 

"  On  acknowledging  my  signature  ?  Of  course,"  says  Philip, 
"  if  ever  it  is  presented  to  me,  I  would  own  it."  And  having 
formed  and  announced  this  resolution,  I  knew  my  stubborn 
friend  too  well  to  think  that  "he  ever  would  shirk  it. 

The  most  exasperating  part  of  the  matter  was,  that  however 
generously  Philip's  friends  might  be  disposed  towards  him,  they 
could  not  in  this  case  give  him  a  helping  hand.  The  doctor 
would  draw  more  bills,  and  more.  As  sure  as  Philip  supplied, 
the  parent  would  ask  ;  and  that  devouring  dragon  of  a  doctoi 


564  ^^^^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

had  stomach  enough  for  the  blood  of  all  of  us,  were  we  inclined 
to  give  it.  In  fact,  Philip  saw  as  much,  and  owned  everything 
with  his  usual  candor.  "  I  see  what  is  going  on  in  your  mind, 
old  boy,"  the  poor  fellow  said,  "as  well  as  if  you  spoke.  You 
mean  that  I  am  helpless  and  irreclaimable,  and  doomed  to 
hopeless  ruin.  So  it  would  seem.  A  man  can't  escape  his 
fate,  friend,  and  my  father  has  made  mine  for  me.  If  I  manage 
to  struggle  through  the  payment  of  this  bill,  of  course  he  will 
draw  another.  My  only  chance  of  escape  is,  that  he  should 
succeed  in  some  of  his  speculations.  As  he  is  always  gam- 
bling, there  may  be  some  luck  for  him  one  day  or  another.  He 
won't  benefit  me,  then.  That  is  not  his  way.  If  he  makes  a 
coup,  he  will  keep  the  money,  or  spend  it.  He  won't  gi\-e  me 
any.  But  he  will  not  draw  upon  me  as  he  does  now,  or  send 
forth  fancy  imitations  of  the  filial  autograph.  It  is  a  blessing 
to  have  such  a  father,  isn't  it }  I  say,  Pen,  as  I  think  from 
whom  I  am  descended,  and  look  at  your  spoons,  I  am  aston- 
ished I  have  not  put  any  of  them  in  my  pocket.  You  leave 
me  in  the  room  with  'em  quite  unprotected.  I  say,  it  is  quite 
affecting  the  way  in  which  you  and  your  dear  wife  have  confi- 
dence in  me."  And  with  a  bitter  execration  at  his  fate,  the 
poor  fellow  pauses  for  a  moment  in  his  lament. 

His  father  was  his  fate,  he  seemed  to  think,  and  there  were 
no  means  of  averting  it.  "  You  remember  that  picture  of 
Abraham  and  Isaac  in  the  doctor's  study  in  Old  Parr  Street  t " 
he  would  say.  "  My  patriarch  has  tied  me  up,  and  had  the 
knife  in  me  repeatedly.  He  does  not  sacrifice  me  at  one  oper- 
ation ;  but  there  will  be  a  final  one  some  day,  and  I  shall  bleed 
no  more.  It's  gay  and  amusing,  isn't  it?  Especially  when  one 
has  a  wife  and  children."  I,  for  my  part,  felt  so  indignant, 
that  I  was  minded  to  advertise  in  the  papers  that  all  accept- 
ances drawn  in  Philip's  name  were  forgeries  ;  and  let  his  father 
take  the  consequences  of  his  own  act.  But  the  consequences 
would  have  been  life  imprisonment  for  the  old  man,  and  almost 
as  much  disgrace  and  ruin  for  the  young  one,  as  w'ere  actually 
impending.  He  pointed  out  this  clearly  enough  ;  nor  could 
we  altogether  gainsay  his  dismal  logic.  It  was  better,  at  any 
rate,  to  meet  his  bill,  and  give  the  doctor  warning  for  the 
future.  Well :  perhaps  it  was  ;  only  suppose  the  doctor  should 
take  the  warning  in  good  part,  accept  the  rebuke  with  perfect 
meekness,  and  at  an  early  opportunity  commit  another  forgery? 
To  this  Philip  replied,  that  no  man  could  resist  his  fate  :  that 
he  had  always  expected  his  own  doom  through  his  father  :  that 
when  the  elde):  went  to  America  he  thought  possibly  the  charm 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  56^ 

was  broken  ;  "but  you  see  it  is  not,"  groaned  Philip,  "and  my 
fathers  emissaries  reach  me,  and  I  am  still  under  the  spell." 
The  bearer  of  the  bowsfring^  we  knew,  was  on  his  way,  and 
would  deliver  his  grim  message  ere  long. 

Having  frequently  succeeded  in  extorting  money  from  Dr. 
Firmin,  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than 
follow  his  banker  across  the  Atlantic;  and  we  need  not  describe 
the  annoyance  and  rage  of  the  doctor  on  finding  this  black  care 
still  behind  his  back.  He  had  not  much  to  give  ;  indeed  the 
sum  which  he  took  away  with  him,  and  of  which  he  robbed  his 
son  and  his  other  creditors,  was  but  small :  but  Hunt  was  bent 
upon  having  a  portion  of  this  ;  and,  of  course,  hinted  that,  if 
the  doctor  refused,  he  would  carry  to  the  New  York  press  the 
particulars  of  Firmin's  early  career  and  latest  defalcations. 
Mr.  Hunt  had  been  under  the  gallery  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons half  a  dozen  times,  and  knew  our  public  men  by  sight. 
In  the  course  of  a  pretty  long  and  disreputable  career  he  had 
learned  anecdotes  regarding  members  of  the  aristocracy,  turf- 
men, and  the  like  ;  and  he  offered  to  sell  this  precious  knowl- 
edge of  his  to  more  than  one  American  paper,  as  other  amiable 
exiles  from  our  country  have  done.  But  Hunt  was  too  old,  and 
his  stories  too  stale  for  the  New  York  public.  They  dated 
from  George  IV.,  and  the  boxing  and  coaching  times.  He 
found  but  little  market  for  his  wares ;  and  the  tipsy  parson 
reeled  from  tavern  to  bar,  only  the  object  of  scorn  to  younger' 
reprobates  who  despised  his  old-fashioned  stories,  and  could; 
top  them  with  blackguardism  of  a  much  more  modern  date. 

After  some  two  years'  sojourn  in  the  United  States,  this-, 
worthy  felt  the  passionate  longing  to  revisit  his  native  country 
which  generous  hearts  often  experience,  and  made  his  way  from 
Liverpool  to  London  ;  and  when  in  London  directed  his  steps, 
to  the  house  of  the  Little  Sister,  of  which  he  expected  to  find! 
Philip  still  an  inmate.  Although  Hunt  had  been  once  kicked 
out  of  the  premises,  he  felt  little  shame  now  about  re-entering 
them.  He  had  that  in  his  pocket  which  would  insure  him 
respectful  behavior  from  Philip.  What  were  the  circumstances 
under  which  that  forged  bill  was  obtained  ?  Was  it  a  specula- 
tion between  Hunt  and  Philip's  father  ?  Did  Hunt  suggest 
that,  to  screen  the  elder  Firmin  from  disgrace  and  ruin,  Philip 
would  assuredly  take  the  bill  up  ?  That  a  forged  signature 
was,  in  fact,  a  better  document  than  a  genuine  acceptance  ? 
We  shall  never  know  the  truth  regarding  this  transaction  now. 
We  have  but  the  statements  of  the  two  parties  concerned ;  and 
as  both  of  them,  I  grieve  to  say,  are  entirely  unworthy  of  credit, 


^66  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

we  must  remain  in  ignorance  regarding  this  matter.  Perhapi 
Hunt  forged  Philip's  acceptance  :  perhaps  his  unhappy  father 
wrote  it :  perhaps  the  doctor's  story  that  the  paper  was  extorted 
from  him  was  true,  perhaps  false.  What  matters  ?  liolh  the 
men  have  passed  away  from  amongst  us,  and  will  write  and 
speak  no  more  lies. 

Caroline  was  absent  from  home,  when  Hunt  paid  his  first 
visit  after  his  return  from  America.  Her  servant  described  the 
man,  and  his  appearance.  Mrs.  Brandon  felt  sure  that  Hunt 
was  her  visitor,  and  foreboded  no  good  to  Philip  from  the  par- 
son's arrival.  In  former  days  we  have  seen  how  the  Little 
Sister  had  found  fa\'or  in  the  eyes  of  this  man.  The  besotted 
creature,  shunned  of  men,  stained  with  crime,  drink,  debt,  had 
still  no  little  vanity  in  his  composition,  and  gave  himself  airs 
in  the  tavern  parlors  which  he  frequented.  Because  he  had 
been  at  the  University  thirty  years  ago,  his  idea  was  that  he 
was  superior  to  ordinary  men  who  had  not  had  the  benefit  of 
an  education  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge  ;  and  that  the  "  snobs," 
as  he  called  them,  respected  him.  He  would  assume  grandiose 
airs  in  talking  to  a  tradesman  ever  so  wealthy  ;  speak  to  such 
a  man  by  his  surname  ;  and  deem  that  he  honored  him  by  his 
patronage  and  conversation.  The  Little  Sister's  grammar,  I 
have  told  you,  was  not  good  ;  her  poor  little  h's  were  sadly 
irregular.  A  letter  was  a  painful  task  to  her.  She  knew  how 
ill  slie  performed  it,  and  that  she  was  for  ever  making  blunders. 

She  would  invent  a  thousand  funny  little  pleas  and  excuses 
for  her  faults  of  writing.  With  all  the  blunders  of  spelling,  her 
little  letters  had  a  pathos  which  somehow  brought  tears  into 
the  eyes.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hunt  believed  himself  to  be  this 
woman's  superior.  He  thought  his  University  education  gave 
him  a  claim  upon  her  respect,  and  draped  himself  and  swag- 
gered before  her  and  others  in  bis  dingy  college  gown.  He  had 
paraded  his  Master  of  Arts  degree  in  many  thousand  tavern 
parlors,  where  his  Greek  and  learning  had  got  him  a  kind  of 
respect.  He  patronized  landlords,  and  strutted  by  hostesses' 
bars  with  a  vinous  leer  or  a  tipsy  solemnity.  He  must  have 
been  very  far  gone  and  debased  indeed  when  he  could  still 
think  that  he  was  any  living  man's  better : — he,  who  ought  to 
have  waited  on  the  waiters,  and  blacked  Boots's  own  shoes. 
When  he  had  reached  a  certain  stage  of  liquor  he  commonly 
began  to  brag  about  the  University,  and  recite  the  titles  of  his 
friends  of  early  days.  Never  was  kicking  more  righteously 
administered  than  that  wliich  Philip  once  bestowed  on  this  mis- 
creant.    The  fellow  took  to  the  gutter  as  naturally  as  to  his 


ON  HIS  IVA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  567 

bed,  Firmin  used  to  say ;  and  vowed  that  the  washing  there 
was  a  novelty  which  did  him  good. 

Mrs.  Brandon  soon  found  that  her  surmises  were  correct 
regarding  her  nameless  visitor.  Next  day,  as  she  was  watering 
some  litUe  flowers  in  her  window,  she  looked  from  it  into  the 
street,  where  she  saw  the  shambling  parson  leering  up  at  her. 
When  she  saw  him  he  took  off  his  greasy  hat  and  made  her  a 
bow.  At  the  moment  she  saw  him,  she  felt  that  he  was  come 
upon  some  errand  hostile  to  Philip.  She  kne^v'he  meant  mis- 
chief as  he  looked  up  with  that  sodden  face,  those  bloodshot 
eyes,  those  unshorn,  grinning  lips. 

She  might  have  been  inclined  to  faint,  or  disposed  to  scream, 
or  to  hide  herself  from  the  man,  the  sight  of  whom  she  loathed. 
She  did  not  faint,  or  hide  herself,  or  cry  out  :  but  she  instantly 
nodded  her  head  and  smiled  in  the  most  engaging  manner  on 
that  unwelcome,  dingy  stranger.  She  went  to  her  door ;  she 
opened  it  (though  her  heart  beat  so  that  you  might  have  heard 
it,  as  she  told  her  friend  afterwards).  She  stood  there  a 
moment  archly  smiling  at  him,  and  she  beckoned  him  into  her 
house  with  a  little  gesture  of  welcome.  "  Law  bless  us  "  (these 
I  have  reason  to  believe,  were  her  very  words) — "  Law  bless 
us,  Mr.  Hunt,  where  ever  have  you  been  this  ever  so  long  ?  " 
And  a  smiling  face  looked  at  him  resolutely  from  under  a  neat 
cap  and  fresh  ribbon.  Why,  I  know  some  women  can  smile, 
and  look  at  ease,  when  they  sit  down  in  a  dentist's  chair. 

"  Law  bless  me,  Mr.  Hunt,"  then  says  the  artless  creature, 
*'  who  ever  would  have  thought  of  seeing  you,  I  do  declare  ! " 
And  she  makes  a  nice  cheery  little  curtsey,  and  looks  quite  gay, 
pleased,  and  pretty  ;  and  so  did  Judith  look  gay,  no  doubt,  and 
smile,  and  prattle  before  Holofernes  ;  and  then  of  course  she 
said,  "  Won't  you  step  in  ?  "  And  then  Hunt  swaggered  up 
the  steps  of  the  house,  and  entered  the  little  parlor,  into  which 
the  kind  reader  has  often  been  conducted,  with  its  neat  little 
ornaments,  its  pictures,  its  glistening  corner  cupboard,  and  its 
well-scrubbed,  shining  furniture. 

"  How  is  the  captain  ?  "  asks  the  man  (alone  in  the  company 
of  this  Little  Sister,  the  fellow's  own  heart  began  to  beat,  and 
his  blood  shot  eyes  to  glisten). 

He  had  not  heard  about  poor  Pa  ?  "  That  shows  how  long 
you  have  been  away  !  "  Mrs.  Brandon  remarks,  and  mentions 
the  date  of  her  father's  fatal  illness.  Yes  :  she  was  alone  now, 
and  had  to  care  for  herself  ;  and  straightway,  I  have  no  doubt, 
Mrs.  Brandon  asked  Mr.  Hunt  whether  he  would  "  take " 
anything.     Indeed,  that  good  little  woman  was  for  ever  press- 


568  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

ing  her  friends  to  "  take  "  something,  and  would  have  thought 
the  laws  of  hospitality  violated  unless  she  had  made  this  offer. 

Hunt  was  never  known  to  refuse  a  proposal  of  this  sort. 

He  would  take  a  taste  of  something of  something  warm. 

He  had  had  fever  and  ague  at  New  York,  and  the  malady  hung 
about  him.  Mrs,  Brandon  was  straightway  very  much  interested 
to  hear  about  Mr,  Hunt's  complaint,  and  knew  that  a  com- 
fortable glass  was  very  efficacious  in  removing  threatening 
fever.  Her  nimble,  neat  little  hands  mixed  him  a  cup.  He 
could  not  but  see  what  a  trim  little  housekeeper  she  was.  "  Ah, 
Mrs.  Brandon,  if  I  had  had  such  a  kind  friend  watching  over 
me,  I  should  not  be  such  a  wreck  as  I  am  !  "  he  sighed.  He 
must  have  advanced  to  a  second,  nay,  a  third  glass,  when  he 
sighed  and  became  sentimental  regarding  his  own  unhappy 
condition  ;  and  Brandon  owned  to  her  friends  afterwards  that 
she  made  those  glasses  very  strong. 

Having  "  taken  something,"  in  considerable  quantities,  then, 
Hunt  condescended  to  ask  how  his  hostess  was  getting  on, 
and  how  were  her  lodgers.  How  she  was  getting  on  ? 
Brandon  drew  the  most  cheerful  picture  of  herself  and  her 
circumstances.  The  apartments  let  well,  and  were  never  empty. 
Thanks  to  good  Dr.  Goodenough  and  other  friends,  she  had  as 
much  professional  occupation  as  she  could  desire.  Since  j)W/ 
kfiow  who  has  left  the  country,  she  said,  her  mind  had  been 
ever  so  much  easier.  As  long  as  he  was  near,  she  never  felt 
secure.  But  he  was  gone,  and  bad  luck  go  with  him  !  said  this 
vindictive  Little  Sister. 

"  Was  his  son  still  lodging  up  stairs  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hunt. 

On  this,  what  does  Mrs.  Brandon  do  but  begin  a  most 
angry  attack  upon  Philip  and  his  family.  He  lodge  there.? 
No,  thank  goodness  !  She  had  had  enough  of  him  and  his  wife 
with  her  airs  and  graces,  and  the  children  crying  all  night,  and 
the  furniture  spoiled,  and  the  bills  not  even  paid  !  "  I  wanted 
him  to  think  that  me  and  Philip  was  friends  no  longer ;  and 
heaven  forgive  me  for  telling  stories  !  I  know  this  fellow  means 
no  good  to  Philip  ;  and  before  long  I  will  know  what  he  means, 
that  I  will,"  she  vowed. 

For,  on  the  very  day  when  Mr.  Hunt  paid  her  a  visit, 
Mrs.  Brandon  came  to  see  Philip's  friends,  and  acquaint  them 
with  Hunt's  arrival.  We  could  not  be  sure  that  he  was  the 
bearer  of  the  forged  bill  with  which  poor  Philip  was  threatened. 
As  yet  Hunt  had  made  no  allusion  to  it.  But,  though  we 
are  far  from  sanctioning  deceit  or  hypocrisy,  we  own  that  we 
were  not  very  angry  with  the  Little  Sister  for  employing  dissim- 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  569 

ulation  in  the  present  instance,  and  inducing  Hunt  to  believe 
that  she  was  by  no  means  an  accomplice  of  Philip's.  If  Philip's 
wife  pardoned  her,  ought  his  friends  to  be  less  forgiving  ?  To 
do  right,  you  know  you  must  not  do  wrong  ;  though  I  own  this 
was  one  of  the  cases  in  which  I  am  inclined  not  to  deal  very 
hardly  with  the  well-meaning  little  criminal. 

Now,  Charlotte  had  to  pardon  (and  for  this  fault,  if  not  for 
some  others,  Charlotte  did  most  heartily  pardon)  our  little  friend, 
for  this  reason,  that  Brandon  most  wantonly  maligned  her. 
When  Hunt  asked  what  sort  of  wife  Philip  had  married  ?  Mrs. 
Brandon  declared  that  Mrs.  Philip  was  a  pert,  odious  little 
thing ;  that  she  gave  herself  airs,  neglected  her  children,  bullied 
her  husband,  and  what  not ;  and,  finally,  Brandon  vowed  that 
she  disliked  Charlotte,  and  was  very  glad  to  get  her  out  of  the 
house  :  and  that  Philip  was  not  the  same  Philip  since  he  mar- 
ried her,  and  that  he  gave  himself  airs,  and  was  rude,  and  in 
all  things  led  by  his  wife  j  and  to  get  rid  of  them  was  a  good 
riddance. 

Hunt  gracefully  suggested  that  quarrels  between  landladies 
and  tenants  were  not  unusual ;  that  lodgers  sometimes  did  not 
pay  their  rent  punctually  ;  that  others  were  unreasonably  anx- 
ious about  the  consumption  of  their  groceries,  liquors,  and  so 
forth ;  and  little  Brandon,  who,  rather  than  steal  a  pennyworth 
from  her  Philip,  would  have  cut  her  hand  off,  laughed  at  her 
guest's  joke,  and  pretended  to  be  amused  with  his  knowing 
hints  that  she  was  a  rogue.  There  was  not  a  word  he  said  but 
she  received  it  with  a  gracious  acquiescence  :  she  might  shud- 
der inwardly  at  the  leering  familiarity  of  the  odious  tipsy  wretch, 
but  she  gave  no  outward  sign  of  disgust  or  fear..  She  allowed 
him  to  talk  as  much  as  he  would,  in  hopes  that  he  would  come 
to  a  subject  which  deeply  interested  her.  She  asked  about  the 
doctor,  and  what  he  w'as  doing,  and  whether  it  was  likely  that 
he  would  ever  be  able  to  pay  back  any  of  that  money  which  he 
had  taken  from  his  son  ?  And  she  spoke  with  an  indifferent 
tone,  pretending  to  be  very  busy  over  some  work  at  which  she 
was  stitching. 

"  Oh,  you  are  still  hankering  after  him,"  says  the  chaplain, 
winking  a  bloodshot  eye. 

"  Hankering  after  that  old  man  !  What  should  I  care  for 
him  ?  As  if  he  haven't  done  me  harm  enough  already  !  "  cries 
poor  Caroline. 

"  Yes.  But  women  don't  dislike  a  man  the  worse  for  a  little 
ill-usage,"  suggests  Hunt.  No  doubt  the  fellow  had  made  his 
own  experiments  on  woman's  fidelity. 


570 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


"  Well,  I  suppose,"  says  Brandon,  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
"  women  may  get  tired  as  well  as  men,  mayn't  they  ?  I  found 
out  that  man,  and  wearied  of  him  years  and  years  ago.  Another 
little  drop  out  of  the  green  bottle,  Mr.  Hunt !  It's  very  good 
for  ague-fever,  and  keeps  the  cold  fit  off  wonderful  !  " 

And  Hunt  drank,  and  he  talked  a  little  more — much  more  : 
and  he  gave  his  opinion  of  the  elder  P'irmin,  and  spoke  of  his 
chances  of  success,  and  of  his  rage  for  speculations,  and  doubted 
whether  he  would  ever  be  able  to  lift  his  head  again — though 
he  might,  he  might  still.  He  was  in  the  country  where,  if  ever 
a  man  could  retrieve  himself,  he  had  a  chance.  And  Philip 
was  giving  himself  airs,  was  he  ?  He  was  always  an  arrogant 
chap,  that  Mr.  Philip.  And  he  had  left  her  house  ?  and  was 
gone  ever  so  long  ?  and  where  did  he  live  now  ? 

Then  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mrs.  Brandon  asked,  how  should 
she  know  where  Philip  lived  ?  She  believed  it  was  near  Gray's 
Inn,  or  Lincoln's  Inn,  or  somewhere  ;  and  she  was  for  turning 
the  conversation  away  from  this  subject  altogether  :  and  sought 
to  do  so  by  many  lively  remarks  and  ingenious  little  artifices 
which  I  can  imagine,  but  which  she  only  in  part  acknowledged 
to  me — for  you  must  know  that  as  soon  as  her  visitor  took 
leave — to  turn  into  the  "  Admiral  Byng  "  public-house,  and 
renew  acquaintance  with  the  worthies  assembled  in  the  parlor 
of  that  tavern,  Mrs.  Brandon  ran  away  to  a  cab,  drove  in  it  to 
Philip's  house  in  Milman  Street,  where  only  Mrs.  Philip  was  at 
home — and  after  a  banale  conversation  with  her,  which  puzzled 
Charlotte  not  a  little,  for  Brandon  would  not  say  on  what 
errand  she  came,  and  never  mentioned  Hunt's  arrival  and  visit 
to  her, — the  Little  Sister  made  her  way  to  another  cab,  and 
presently  made  her  appearance  at  the  house  of  Philip's  friends 
in  Queen  Square.  And  here  she  informed  me,  how  Hunt  had 
arrived,  and  how  she  was  sure  he  meant  no  good  to  Philip,  and 
how  she  had  told  certain — certain  stories  which  were  not 
founded  in  fact — to  Mr.  Hunt ;  for  the  telling  of  which  fibs  I 
am  not  about  to  endeavor  to  excuse  her. 

Though  the  interesting  clergyman  had  not  said  one  word 
regarding  that  bill  of  which  Philip's  father  had  warned  him,  we 
believed  that  the  document  was  in  Hunt's  possession,  and  that 
it  would  be  produced  in  due  season.  We  happened  to  know 
where  Philip  dined,  and  sent  him  word  to  come  to  us. 

"  What  can  he  mean  ?  "  the  people  asked  at  the  table — a 
bachelors'  table  at  the  Temple  (for  Philip's  good  wife  actually 
encouraged  him  to  go  abroad  from  time  to  time,  and  make 
merry  with  his  friends).     "  \\'hat  can   this  mean  .^  "   and   they 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


571 


read  out  the  scrap  of  i^aper  which  he  had  cast  down  as  he  was 
summoned  away. 

Philip's  correspondent  wrote  :  "Dear  PhiHp, — I  beheve  the 
REARER  OF  THE  BOWSTRING  has  arrived  ;  and  has  been  with 
the  L.  S.  this  very  day." 

The  L.  S. .''  the  bearer  of  the  bowstring  ?  Not  one  of  the 
bachelors  dining  in  Parchment  Building  could  read  the  riddle. 
Only  after  receiving  the  scrap  of  paper  Philip  had  jumped  up 
and  left  the  room;  and  a  friend  of  ours,  a  sly  wag  and  Don 
Juan  of  Pump  Court,  offered  to  take  odds  that  there  was  a  lady 
in  the  case. 

At  the  hasty  little  council  which  was  convened  at  our  house 
on  the  receipt  of  the  news,  the  Little  Sister,  whose  instinct  had 
not  betrayed  her,  was  made  acquainted  with  the  precise  nature 
of  the  danger  which  menaced  Philip  ;  and  exhibited  a  fine 
hearty  wrath  when  she  heard  how  he  proposed  to  meet  the 
enemy.  He  had  a  certain  sum  in  hand.  He  would  borrow 
more  of  his  friends,  who  knew  that  he  was  an  honest  man. 
This  bill  he  would  meet,  whatever  mfght  come  ;  and  avert  at 
least  this  disgrace  from  his  father. 

What }  Give  in  to  those  rogues  ?  Leave  his  children  to 
starve,  and  his  poor  wife  to  turn  drudge  and  house-servant, 
who  was  not  fit  for  anything  but  a  fine  lady  ?  (There  was  ao 
love  lost,  you  see,  between  these  two  ladies,  who  both  loved 
Mr.  Philip.)  It  was  a  sin  and  a  shame  !  Mrs.  Brandon  averred, 
and  declared  she  thought  Philip  had  been  a  man  of  more  spirit. 
Philip's  friend  has  before  stated  his  own  private  sentiments 
regarding  the  calamity  which  menaced  Firmin,  To  pay  this 
bill  was  to  bring  a  dozen  more  down  upon  him.  Philip  might 
as  well  resist  now  as  at  a  later  day.  Such,  in  fact,  was  the 
opinion  given  by  the  reader's  very  humble  servant  at  command. 

My  wife,  on  the  other  hand,  took  Philip's  side.  She  was 
very  much  moved  at  his  announcement  that  he  would  forgive 
his  father  this  once  at  least,  and  endeavor  to  cover  his  sin. 

"As  you  hope  to  be  forgiven  yourself,  dear  Philip,  I  am 
sure  you  are  doing  right,"  Laura  said  ;  "  I  am  sure  Charlotte 
will  think  so." 

"  Oh,  Charlotte,  Charlotte  !  "  interposes  the  Little  Sister, 
rather  peevishly ;  "  of  course,  Mrs.  Philip  thinks  whatever  her 
husband  tells  her  !  " 

"  In  his  own  time  of  trial  Philip  has  been  met  with  wonder- 
ful succor  and  kindness,"  Laura  urged.  "  See  how  one  thing 
after  another  has  contributed  to  help  him  !  \Mien  he  wanted, 
there  were  friends  always  at  his  need.  If  he  wants  again,  I  am 


572 


TITE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


sure  my  husband  and  I  will  share  with  him."  (I  may  have 
made  a  wry  face  at  this  ;  for  with  the  best  feelings  towards  a 
man,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  you  know  it  is  not  always  con- 
venient to  be  lending  him  five  or  six  hundred  pounds  without 
security.)  "  My  dear  husband  and  I  will  share  with  him,"  goes 
on  Mrs.  Laura;  "won't  we,  Arthur?  Yes,  Brandon,  that  we 
will.  Be  sure,  Charlotte  and  the  children  shall  not  want 
because  Philip  covers  his  father's  wrong,  and  hides  it  from  the 
world  !  God  bless  you,  dear  friend  !  "  and  what  does  this 
woman  do  next,  and  before  her  husband's  face  ?     Actually  she 

goes  up  to  Philip ;  she  takes  his  hand — and Well,  what 

took  place  before  my  own  eyes,  I  do  not  choose  to  write 
down. 

"  She's  encouraging  him  to  ruin  the  children  for  the  sake  of 
that — that  wicked  old  brute  ! "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon.  "  It's 
enough  to  provoke  a  saint,  it  is  !  "  And  she  seizes  up  her 
bonnet  from  the  table,  and  claps  it  on  her  head,  and  walks  out 
of  our  room  in  a  little  tempest  of  wrath. 

My  wife,  clasping  her  hands,  whispers  a  few  words,  which 
say :  "  Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  them  who  tres- 
pass against  us." 

"  Yes,"  says  Philip,  very  much  moved.  "  It  is  the  Divine 
order.  You  are  right,  dear  Laura.  I  have  had  a  weary  time ; 
and  a  terrible  gloom  of  doubt  and  sadness  over  my  mind  whilst 
I  have  been  debating  this  matter,  and  before  I  had  determined 
to  do  as  you  would  have  me.  But  a  great  weight  is  off  my 
heart  since  I  have  been  enabled  to  see  what  my  conduct  should 
be.  What  hundreds  of  struggling  men  as  well  as  myself  have 
met  with  losses,  and  faced  them  !  I  will  pay  this  bill,  and  I 
will  warn  the  drawer  to — to  spare  me  for  the  future." 

Now  that  the  Little  Sister  had  gone  away  in  her  fit  of  indig- 
nation, you  see  I  was  left  in  a  minority  in  the  council  of  war, 
and  the  opposition  was  quite  too  strong  for  me.  I  began  to  be 
of  the  majority's  opinion.  I  dare  say  I  am  not  the  only 
gentleman  who  has  been  led  round  by  a  woman.  We  men  of 
great  strength  of  mind  very  frequently  are.  Yes  :  my  wife 
convinced  me  with  passages  from  her  text-book,  admitting  of  no 
contradiction  according  to  her  judgment,  that  Philip's  duty  was 
to  forgive  his  father. 

"  And  how  lucky  it  was  we  did  not  buy  the  chintzes  that 
day  !  "  says  Laura,  with  a  laugh.  "  Do  you  know  there  were 
two  which  were  so  pretty  that  Charlotte  could  not  make  up 
her  mind  which  of  the  two  she  would  take  1 " 

Philip  roared   out    one   of    his   laughs,    which   made   the 


ON  Ills  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


573 


windows  shake.  He  was  in  great  spirits.  For  a  man  who  was 
going  to  ruin  himself,  he  was  in  the  most  enviable  good-humor. 
Did  Charlotte  know  about  this — this  claim  which  was  impend- 
ing over  him  ?  No.  It  might  make  her  anxious, — poor  little 
thing  !  Philip  had  not  told  her.  He  had  thought  of  concealing 
the  matter  from  her.  What  need  was  there  to  disturb  her  rest, 
poor  innocent  child  ?  You  see,  we  all  treated  Mrs.  Charlotte 
more  or  less  like  a  child.  Philip  played  with  her.  J.  J.,  the 
painter,  coaxed  and  dandled  her,  so  to  speak.  The  Little  Sis- 
ter loved  her,  but  certainly  with  a  love  that  was  not  respect- 
ful ;  and  Charlotte  took  everybody's  good-will  with  a  pleasant 
meekness  and  sweet  smiling  content.  It  was  not  for  Laura 
to  give  advice  to  man  and  wife  (as  if  the  woman  was  not  always 
giving  lectures  to  Philip  and  his  3'oung  wife  !) ;  but  in  the 
present  instance  she  thought  Mrs.  Philip  certainly  ought  to 
know  what  Philip's  real  situation  was  ;  what  danger  was  men- 
acing ;  "  and  how  admirable  and  right,  and  Christian — and  you 
will  have  your  reward  for  it,  dear  Philip  !  "  interjects  the  en- 
thusiastic lady — "  your  conduct  has  been  !  " 

When  we  came,  as  we  straightway  did  in  a  cab,  to  Char- 
lotte's house,  to  expound  the  matter  to  her,  goodness  bless  us  ! 
she  was  not  shocked,  or  anxious,  or  frightened  at  all.  Mrs. 
Brandon  had  just  been  with  her,  and  told  her  of  what  was  hap- 
pening, and  she  had  said,  "  Of  course,  Philip  ought  to  help  his 
father ;  and  Brandon  had  gone  away  quite  in  a  tantrum  of 
anger,  and  had  really  been  quite  rude  ;  and  she  should  not 
pardon  her,  only  she  knew  how  dearly  the  Little  Sister  loved 
Philip ;  and  of  course  they  must  help  Dr.  Firmin  ;  and  what 
dreadful,  dreadful  distress  he  must  have  been  in  to  do  as  he 
did  !  But  he  had  warned  Philip,  5^ou  know,"  and  so  forth. 
"And  as  for  the  chintzes,  Laura,  why  I  suppose  w-e  must  go  on 
with  the  old  shabby  covers.  You  know  they  will  do  very  well 
till  next  year."  This  was  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Charlotte 
received  the  new^s  which  Philip  had  concealed  from  her,  lest 
it  should  terrify  her.  As  if  a  loving  woman  was  ever  very 
much  frightened  at  being  called  upon  to  share  her  husband's 
misfortune  ! 

As  for  the  little  case  of  forgery,  I  don't  believe  the  young 
person  could  ever  be  got  to  see  the  heinous  nature  of  Dr. 
Firmin's  offence.  The  desperate  little  logician  seemed  rather 
to  pity  the  father  than  the  son  in  the  business.  "  How  dread- 
fully pressed  he  must  have  been  when  he  did  it,  poor  man  !  " 
she  said.  "  To  be  sure,  he  ought  not  to  have  done  it  at  all  ; 
but  think  of  his  necessity !     That  is  what  I   said  to  Brandon, 


574 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


Now,  there's  little  Philip's  cake  in  the  cupboard  which  you 
brought  him.  Now  suppose  papa  was  very  hungry,  and  went 
and  took  some  witliout  asking  I'hilly,  he  wouldn't  be  so  very 
wrong,  I  think,  would  he  ?  A  child  is  glad  enough  to  give  for 
his  father,  isn't  he  ?  And  when  I  said  this  to  Brandon,  she 
was  so  rude  and  viplent,  I  really  had  no  patience  with  her ! 
And  she  forgets  that  1  am  a  lady,  and  "  &c.,  &c.  So  it  ap- 
peared the  Little  Sister  had  made  a  desperate  attempt  to  bring 
over  Charlotte  to  her  side,  was  still  minded  to  rescue  Philip  in 
spite  of  himself,  and  had  gone  off  in  wrath  at  her  defeat. 

We  looked  to  the  doctor's  letters,  ascertained  the  date  of 
the  bill.  It  had  crossed  the  water  and  would  be  at  Philip's 
door  in  a  very  few  days.  Had  Hunt  brought  it.''  The  rascal 
would  have  it  presented  through  some  regular  channel,  no 
doubt ;  and  Philip  and  all  of  us  totted  up  ways  and  means, 
and  strove  to  make  the  slender  figures  look  as  big  as  possible, 
as  the  thrifty  housewife  puts  a  patch  here  and  a  darn  there, 
and  cuts  a  little  slice  out  of  this  old  garment,  so  as  to  make 
the  poor  little  frock  serve  for  winter  wear.  We  had  so  much 
at  the  banker's.  A  friend  might  help  with  a  little  advance. 
We  would  fairly  ask  a  loan  from  the  Review.  We  were  in  a 
scrape,  but  we  would  meet  it.  And  so  with  resolute  hearts,  we 
would  prepare  to  receive  the  Bearer  of  the  Bowstring. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  BEARER  OF  THE  BOWSTRING. 

The  poor  Little  Sister  trudged  away  from  Milman  Street 
exasperated  with  Philip,  with  Philip's  wife,  and  with  the  deter- 
mination of  the  pair  to  accept  the  hopeless  ruin  impending 
over  them.  "  Three  hundred  and  eighty-six  pounds  four  and 
threepence,"  she  thought,  "  to  pay  for  that  wicked  old  villain  ! 
It  is  more  than  poor  Philip  is  worth,  with  all  his  savings  and 
his  little  sticks  of  furniture.  I  know  what  he  will  do  :  he  will 
borrow  of  the  money-lenders,  and  give  those  bills,  and  renew 
them,  and  end  by  ruin.  When  he  have  paid  this  bill,  that  old 
villain  will  forge  another,  and  that  precious  wife  of  his  will  tell 
him  to  pay  that,  I  suppose  ;  and  those  little  darlings  will  be 
begging  for  bread,  unless  they  come  and  eat  mine,  to  which — 
God  bless  them  ! — they  are  always  wekome."     She  calculated 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  575 

— it  was  a  sum  not  difficult  to  reckon — the  amount  of  her  own 
little  store  of  saved  ready  money.  To  pay  four  hundred 
pounds  out  of  such  an  income  as  Philip's,  she  felt,  was  an 
attempt  vain  and  impossible.  "  And  he  mustn't  have  my  poor 
little  stocking  now,"  she  argued  ;  "  they  will  want  that  pres- 
ently when  their  pride  is  broken  down,  as  it  will  be,  and  my 
darlings  are  hungering  for  their  dinner  !  "  Revolving  this  dis- 
mal matter  in  her  mind,  and  scarce  knowing  where  to  go  for 
comfort  and  counsel,  she  made  her  way  to  her  good  friend,  Dr. 
Goodenough,  and  found  that  worthy  man,  who  had  always  a 
welcome  for  his  Little  Sister. 

She  found  Goodenough  alone  in  his  great  dining-room, 
taking  a  very  slender  meal,  after  visiting  his  hospital  and  his 
fifty  patients,  among  whom  I  think  there  were  more  poor  than 
rich  :  and  the  good  sleepy  doctor  woke  up  with  a  vengeance, 
when  he  heard  his  little  nurse's  news,  and  fired  ofif  a  volley  of 
angry  language  against  Philip  and  his  scoundrel  of  a  father  ; 
"  which  it  was  a  comfort  to  hear  him,"  little  Brandon  told  us 
afterwards.  Then  Goodenough  trotted  out  of  the  dining-room 
into  the  adjoining  library  and  consulting-room,  whither  his  old 
friend  followed  him.  Then  he  pulled  out  a  bunch  of  keys  and 
opened  a  secretaire,  from  which  he  took  a  parchment-covered 
volume,  on  which  J.  Goodenough,  Esq.,  M.D.,  was  written  in  a 
fine  legible  hand, — and  which,  in  fact,  was  a  banker's  book. 
The  inspection  of  the  MS.  volume  in  question  must  have 
pleased  the  worthy  physician  ;  for  a  grin  came  over  his  vener- 
able features,  and  he  straightway  drew  out  of  the  desk  a  slim 
volume  of  grey  paper,  on  each  page  of  which  were  inscribed 
the  highly  respectable  names  of  Messrs.  Stumpy  and  Rowdy 
and  Co.,  of  Lombard  Street,  Bankers.  On  a  slip  of  gray  paper 
the  doctor  wrote  a  prescription  for  a  draught,  stat/'m  siwiendus 
— (a  draught — mark  my  pleasantry) — which  he  handed  over  to 
his  little  friend. 

"  There,  you  little  fool  ! "  said  he.  "  The  father  is  a  rascal, 
but  the  boy  is  a  fine  fellow  ;  and  you,  you  little  silly  thing,  I 
must  help  in  this  business  myself,  or  you  will  go  and  ruin  your- 
self ;  I  know  you  will  !  Offer  this  to  the  fellow  for  his  bill. 
Or,  stay  !  How  much  money  is  there  in  the  house  ?  Perhaps 
the  sight  of  notes  and  gold  will  tempt  him  more  than  a 
cheque."  And  the  doctor  emptied  his  pockets  of  all  the  fees 
which  happened  to  be  therein — I  don't  know  how  many  fees  of 
shining  shillings  and  sovereigns,  neatly  wrapped  up  in  paper  ; 
and  he  emptied  a  drawer  in  which  there  was  more  silver  and 
gold :  and  he  trotted  up  to  his  bedroom,  and  came  panting, 


^^6  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PITILTP 

presently,  clown  stairs  with  a  fat  little  pocket-book,  containing  a 
bundle  of  notes,  and,  with  one  thing  or  another,  he  made  up  a 
sum  of — I  won't  mention  what ;  but  this  sum  of  money,  I  say, 
he  thrust  into  the  Little  Sister's  hand,  and  said,  "  Try  the  fellow 
with  this.  Little  Sister ;  and  see  if  you  can  get  the  bill  from 
him.  Don't  say  it's  my  money,  or  the  scoundrel  will  be  for 
having  twenty  shillings  in  the  pound.  Say  it's  yours,  and 
there's  no  more  where  that  came  from  ;  and  coax  him,  and 
wheedle  him,  and  tell  him  plenty  of  lies,  my  dear.  It  won't 
break  your  heart  to  do  that.  What  an  immortal  scoundrel 
Brummell  Firmin  is,  to  be  sure  !     Though,  by  the  way,  in  two 

more  cases  at  the  hospital  I  have  tried  that "     And  here 

the  doctor  went  off  into  a  professional  conv£rsatioii  with  his 
favorite  nurse,  which  I  could  not  presume  to  repeat  to  any  non- 
medical men. 

The  Little  Sister  bade  God  bless  Dr.  Goodenough,  and 
wiped  her  glistening  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  and  put  away 
the  notes  and  gold  with  a  trembling  little  hand,  and  trudged  off 
with  a  lightsome  step  and  happy  heart.  Arrived  at  Tottenham 
Court  Road,  she  thought,  shall  I  go  home,  or  shall  I  go  to  poor 
Mrs.  Philip  and  take  her  this  money  ?  No.  Their  talk  that  day 
had  not  been  very  pleasant :  words,  very  like  high  words,  had 
passed  between  them,  and  our  Little  Sister  had  to  own  herself 
that  she  had  been  rather  rude  in  her  late  colloquy  with  Char- 
lotte. And  she  was  a  proud  Little  Sister  :  at  least  she  did 
not  care  to  own  that  she  had  been  hasty  or  disrespectful  in  her 
conduct  to  that  young  woman.  She  had  too  much  spirit  for 
that.  Have  we  ever  said  that  our  little  friend  was  exempt  from 
the  prejudices  and  vanities  of  this  wicked  world  ?  Well,  to 
rescue  Philip,  to  secure  the  fatal  bill,  to  go  with  it  to  Charlotte, 
and  say,  "  There,  Mrs.  Philip,  there's  your  husband's  liberty." 
It  would  be  a  rare  triumph,  that  it  would  !  And  Philip  would 
promise,  on  his  honor,  that  this  should  be  the  last  and  only  bill 
he  would  pay  for  that  wretched  old  father.  With  these 
happy  thoughts  swelling  in  her  little  heart,  Mrs.  Brandon  made 
her  way  to  the  familiar  little  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and 
would  have  a  little  bit  of  supper,  so  she  would.  And  laid  her 
own  little  cloth  ;  and  set  forth  her  little  forks  and  spoons, 
which  were  as  bright  as  rubbing  could  make  them  ;  and  I  am 
authorized  to  state  that  her  repast  consisted  of  two  nice  little 
lamb  chops,  which  she  purchased  from  her  neighbor,  Mr. 
Chump,  in  Tottenham  Court  Road,  after  a  pleasant  little  con- 
versation with  that  gentleman  and  his  good  lady.  And,  with 
her  bit  of  supper,  after  a  day's  work,  our  little  friend  would 


ON  HIS  J  FA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


577 


sometimes  indulge  in  a  glass — a  little  glass — of  something  com- 
fortable. The  case  bottle  was  in  the  cupboard,  out  of  which 
her  poor  Pa  had  been  wont  to  mix  his  tumbler  for  many  a  long 
day.  So,  having  prepared  it  with  her  own  hands,  down  she  sat 
to  her  little  meal,  tired  and  happy ;  and  as  she  thought  of  the 
occurrences  of  the  day,  and  of  the  rescue  which  had  come  so 
opportunely  to  her  beloved  Philip  and  his  children,  I  am  sure 
she  said  a  grace  before  her  meat. 

Her  candles  being  lighted  and  her  blind  up,  any  one  in  the 
street  could  see  that  her  chamber  was  occupied  ;  and  at  about 
ten  o'clock  at  night  there  came  a  heavy  step  clinking  along  the 
pavement,  the.  sound  of  which,  I  have  no  doubt,  made  the 
Little  Sister  start  a  little.  The  heavy  foot  paused  before  her 
window,  and  presently  clattered  up  the  steps  of  her  door.  Then 
as  her  bell  rang — I  consider  it  is  most  probable  that  her  cheeks 
flushed  a  little — she  went  to  her  hall  door  and  opened  it  herself. 
"  Lor',  is  it  you,  Mr.  Hunt  ?  Well,  I  never  !  that  is,  I  thought 
you  might  come.  Really,  now  " — and  with  the  moonlight 
behind  him,  the  dingy  Hunt  swaggered  in. 

"How  comfortable  you  looked  at  your  little  table,"  says 
Hunt,  with  his  hat  over  his  e}e. 

"Won't  you  step  in  and  sit  down  to  it,  and  take  something.?  " 
asks  the  smiling  hostess. 

Of  course,  Hunt  would  take  something.  And  the  greasy 
hat  is  taken  off  his  head  with  a  flourish,  and  he  struts  into  the 
poor  Little  Sister's  little  room,  pulling  a  wisp  of  grizzling  hair, 
and  endeavoring  to  assume  a  careless,  fashionable  look.  The 
ding}^  hand  had  seized  the  case-bottle  in  a  moment.  "  What ! 
you  do  a  little  in  this  way,  do  you  1 "  he  says,  and  winks 
amiably  at  Mrs.  Brandon  and  the  bottle.  She  takes  ever  so 
little,  she  owns  ;  and  reminds  him  of  days  which  he  must 
remember,  when  she  had  a  wine-glass  out  of  poor  Pa's  tumbler. 
A  bright  little  kettle  is  singing  on  the  fire, — will  not  Mr.  Hunt 
mix  a  glass  for  himself  ?  She  takes  a  bright  beaker  from  the 
corner-cupboard,  which  is  near  her,  with  her  keys  hanging  in  it. 

"  Oh — ho  !  that's  where  we  keep  the  ginnims,  is  it  ?  "  says 
the  graceful  Hunt,  with  a  laugh. 

"  My  papa  always  kept  it  there,"  says  Caroline,  meekly. 
And  whilst  her  back  is  turned  to  fetch  a  canister  from  the  cup- 
board, she  knows  that  the  astute  Mr.  Hunt  has  taken  the 
opportunity  to  fill  a  good  large  measure  from  the  square  bottle. 
"  Make  yourself  welcome,"  says  the  Little  Sister,  in  her  gay, 
artless  way  ;  "  there's  more  where  that  came  from  !  "  And 
Hunt  drinks  his  hostess's  health  :  and  she  bows  to  him  and 

37 


578 


THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHTLIP 


smiles,  and  sips  a  little  from  her  own  glass  ;  and  the  little  ^ady 
looks  quite  pretty  and  rosy  and  bright.  Her  cheeks  are  like 
apples,  her  figure  is  trim  and  graceful,  and  always  attired  in 
the  neatest-fitting  gown.  IJy  the  comfortable  light  of  the  candles 
on  her  sparkling  tables,  you  scarce  see  the  silver  lines  in  her 
light  hair,  or  the  marks  which  time  has  made  round  her  eyes. 
Hunt  gazes  on  her  with  admiration. 

'•  Why,"  says  he,  "  I  vow  you  look  younger  and  prettier  than 
when — when  I  saw  you  first." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Hunt !  "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon,  witli  a  flush  on  her 
cheek,  which  becomes  it,  "  don't  recall  that  time,  or  that — that 
wretch  who  served  me  so  cruel !  " 

"  He  was  a  scoundrel,  Caroline,  to  treat  as  he  did  such  a 
woman  as  you  !  The  fellow  has  no  principle  ;  he  was  a  bad 
one  from  the  beginning.  Why,  he  ruined  me  as  well  as  you: 
got  me  to  play  ;  run  me  into  debt  by  introducing  me  to  his  fine 
companions.  I  was  a  simple  young  fellow  then,  and  thought 
it  was  a  fine  thing  to  live  with  feliow-commoners  and  noblemen 
who  drove  their  tandems  and  gave  their  grand  dinners.  It  was 
he  that  led  me  astray,  I  tell  you.  I  might  have  been  Fellow  of 
my  college — had  a  living — married  a  good  wife — risen  to  be  a 
bishop,  by  George  ! — for  I  had  great  talents,  Caroline  ;  only  I 
was  so  confounded  idle,  and  fond  of  the  cards  and  the  bones." 

"  The  bones  ?  "  cries  Caroline,  with  a  bewildered  look. 

"The  dice,  my  dear!  'Seven's  the  main'  was  my  ruin. 
Seven's  the  main  and  eleven's  the  nick  to  seven.  That  used 
to  be  the  little  game  !  "  And  he  made  a  graceful  gesture  with 
his  empty  w^ine-glass,  as  though  he  were  tossing  a  pair  of  dice 
on  the  table.  "  The  man  next  to  me  in  a  lecture  is  a  bishop 
now,  and  I  could  knock  his  head  off  in  Greek  iambics  and 
Latin  hexameters  too.  In  my  second  year  I  got  the  Latin  decla- 
mation prize,  I  tell  you " 

"  lirandon  always  said  you  were  one  of  the  cleverest  men 
at  the  college.  He  always  said  that,  I  remember,"  remarks  the 
lady,  very  respectfully. 

"  Did  he  t  He  did  sdij  a  good  word  for  me  then  .'  P.rum- 
mell  l-'irmin  wasn't  a  clever  man  ;  he  wasn't  a  reading  man. 
Whereas  I  would  back  myself  for  a  Sapphic  ode  against  any 
man  in  my  college — against  any  man  !  Thanh  vou.  You  do 
mix  it  so  uncommon  hot  and  well,  there's  no  saying  no;  indeed, 
there  ain't !  Though  I  have  had  enough — upon  my  honor,  I 
have." 

"  Lor'  !  I  thought  you  men  could  drink  anything  !  And  Mr. 
Brandon — Mr.  Firmin  you  said  'i  " 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGIT  THE  WORLD.  579 

Well,  I  said  Erummell  Firmin  was  a  swell  somehow.     He 
had  a  sort  of  grand  manner  with  him " 

"  Yes,  he  had,"  sighed  Caroline.  And  I  dare  say  her 
thoughts  wandered  back  to  a  time  long,  long  ago,  when  this 
grand  gentleman  had  captivated  her. 

"  And  it  was  trying  to  keep  up  with  him  that  ruined  me  ! 
I  quarrelled  with  my  poor  old  governor  about  money,  of  course  ; 
grew  idle,  and  lost  my  Fellowship.  Then  the  bills  came  down 
upon  me.  I  tell  you,  there  are  some  of  my  college  ticks  ain't 
paid  now." 

"  College  ticks  .'     Law  !"  ejaculates  the  lady.     "  Ajid " 

"Tailors'  ticks,  tavern  ticks,  livery  stable  ticks — for  there 
were  famous  hacks  in  our  days,  and  I  used  to  hunt  with  the 
tip-top  men.  I  wasn't  bad  across  country,  I  wasn't.  But  we 
can't  keep  the  pace  with  those  rich  fellows.  We  try,  and  they 
go  ahead — they  ride  us  down.  Do  you  think,  if  I  hadn't  been 
very  hard  up,  I  would  have  done  what  I  did  to  you,  Caroline  ? 
You  poor  little  innocent  suffering  thing.  It  was  a  shame.  It 
was  a  shame  !  " 

"  Yes,  a  shame  it  was,"  cries  Caroline.  "  And  that  I  never 
gainsay.     You  did  deal  hard  with  a  poor  girl,  both  of  you." 

"  It  was  rascally.  But  Firmin  was  the  worst.  He  had  me 
in  his  power.     It  v»'as  he  led  me  wrong.     It  was  he   drove  me 

into   debt,   and   then  abroad,   and  thffli  into  qu •  into  jail, 

perhaps  :  and  then  into  this  kind  of  thing."  ("  This  kind  of 
thing  "  has  before  been  explained  elegantly  to  signify  a  tumbler 
of  hot  grog.)  "  And  my  father  wouldn't  see  me  on  his  death- 
bed ;  and  my  brothers  and  sisters  broke  with  me  ;  and  I  owe 
it  all  to  Brummell  Firmin — all.  Do  you  think,  after  ruining 
me,  he  oughtn't  to  j^ay  me  ? "  and  again  he  thumps  a  dusky 
hand  upon  the  table.  It  made  dingy  marks  on  the  poor  Little 
Sister's  spotless  tablecloth.  It  rubbed  its  owner's  forehead, 
and  lank,  grizzling  hair. 

"And  me,  Mr.  Hunt  ?  What  do  he  owe  me  .^  "  asks  Hunt's 
hostess, 

"  Caroline  !  "  cries  Hunt,  "  I  have  made  Brummell  P'irmin 
pay  me  a  good  bit  back  already,  and  I'll  have  more  ;"  and  he 
thumped  his  breast,  and  thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast-pocket 
as  he  spoke,  and  clutched  at  something  within. 

"  It  is  there  !  "  thought  Caroline.  She  might  turn  pale  ; 
but  he  did  not  remark  her  pallor.  He  was  all  intent  on  drink, 
on  vanity,  on  revenge. 

"  I  have  him,  1  say.     He  owes  me  a  good  bit ;  and  he  has 
paid  me  a  good  bit ;  and  he  shall  pay  me  a  good  bit  more.     Do 


58o 


THE  AD  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


you  tliink  1  am  a  fellow  who  will  be  ruined  and  insulted,  and 
won't  revenge  myself  ?  You  should  have  seen  his  face  when  I 
turned  up  at  New  York  at  the  '  Astor  House,'  and  said,  '  Brum- 
mell,  old  fellow,  here  I  am,'  I  said  ;  and  he  turned  as  white — 
as  white  as  this  tablecloth.  '  I'll  never  leave  you,  my  boy,'  I 
said.  'Other  fellows  may  go  from  you,  but  old  Tom  Hunt  will 
stick  to  you.  Let's  go  into  the  bar  and  have  a  drink  ! '  and  he 
was  obliged  to  come.  And  1  have  him  now  in  my  power,  I  tell 
you.  And  when  I  say  to  him,  '  Brummell,  have  a  drink,'  drink 
he  must.  His  bald  old  head  must  go  into  the  pail!"  And 
Mr.  Hunt  laughed  a  laugh  which  I  dare  say  was  not  agreeable. 

After  a  pause  he  went  on  :  "  Caroline  !  Do  you  hate  him, 
I  say  ?  or  do  you  like  a  fellow  who  deserted  you  and  treated 
you  like  a  scoundrel  .''  Some  women  do.  I  could  tell  of  wo- 
men who  do.  I  could  tell  you  of  other  fellows,  perhaps,  but  I 
won't.  Do  you  hate  Brummell  Firmin,  that  bald-headed  Brum 
— hypocrite,  and  that — that  insolent  rascal  who  laid  his  hand 
on  a  clergyman,  and  an  old  man,  by  George,  and  hit  me — and 
hit  me  in  that  street.  Do  you  hate  him,  I  say  ?  Hoo  !  hoo  ! 
hick  !     I've  got  'em  both  ! — here,  in  my  pocket — both  !  " 

"  You  have  got — what  ?  "  gasped  Caroline. 

"  I  have  got  their — hallo  !  stop,  what's  that  to  you  what  I've 
got  ? "  And  he  sinks  back  in  his  chair,  and  grins,  and  leers, 
and  triumphantly  tossesjiis  glass. 

"  Well,  it  ain't  much  to  me  ;  I — I  never  got  any  good  out 
of  either  of  'em  yet,"  says  poor  Caroline,  with  a  sinking  heart. 
"  Let's  talk  about  somebody  else  than  them  two  plagues.  Be- 
cause you  were  a  little  merry  one  night — and  I  don't  mind  what 
a  gentleman  says  when  he  has  had  a  glass — for  a  big  strong 
man  to  hit  an  old  one " 

"  To  strike  a  clergyman  !  "  yells  Hunt. 

"  It  was  a  shame — a  cowardly  shame  !  And  I  gave  it  him 
for  it,  I  jDromise  you  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"On  your  honor,  now,  do  you  hate  'em?"  cries  Hunt, 
starting  up,  and  clenching  his  fist,  and  dropping  again  into  his 
chair. 

"  Have  I  any  reason  to  love  'em,  Mr.  Hunt?  Do  sit  down 
and  have  a  little " 

"  No  :  you  have  no  reason  to  like  'em.  You  hate  'em — I 
hate  'em.  Look  here.  Promise — 'pon  your  honor,  now,  Caro- 
line— I've  got  'em  both,  I  tell  you.  Strike  a  clergyman,  will 
he  ?     What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

And  starting  from  his  chair  once  more,  and  supporting  him- 
self against  the  wall  (where   hung  one  of  J,  J.'s  pictures   of 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  5S1 

Philip),  Hunt  pulls  out  the  greasy  pocket-book  once  more,  and 
fumbles  amongst  the  greasy  contents  :  and  as  the  papers  liutler 
on  the  floor  and  the  table,  he  pounces  down  on  one  with  a 
dingy  hand,  and  yells  a  laugh,  and  says,  "  I've  cotched  you  ! 
That's  it.     What  do  you   say  to  that  ? — '  London,  July  4th. — • 

Five   months  after  date,  I  promise   to  pay  to '     No,  you 

don't." 

"  La  !  Mr.  Hunt,  won't  you  let  me  look,  at  it  ?  "  cries  the 
hostess.  "  Whatever  is  it .-'  A  bill.  My  Pa  had  plenty  of 
'em." 

"  What .''  with  candles  in  the  room  ?     No,  you  don't,  I  say." 

"  What  is  it  ?     Won't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  It's  the  young  one's  acceptance  of  the  old  man's  draft," 
says  Hunt,  hissing  and  laughing. 

"  For  how  much  ?  " 

"  Three  hundred  and  eighty-six  four  three — that's  all ;  and 
I  guess  I  can  get  more  where  that  came  from  !  "  says  Hunt, 
laughing  more  and  more  cheerful. 

"  What  will  you  take  for  it .''  I'll  buy  it  of  you,"  cries  the 
Little  Sister.  "  I — I've  seen  plenty  of  my  Pa's  bills  ;  and  I'll 
— I'll  discount  this,  if  you  like." 

"  What  1  are  you  a  little  discounter  ?  Is  that  the  way  you 
make  your  money,  and  the  silver  spoons,  and  the  nice  supper, 
and  everything  delightful  about  you  ?  A  little  discountess,  are 
you — you  little  rogue  ?  Little  discountess,  by  George  !  How 
much  will  you  give,  little  discountess  ? "  And  the  reverend 
gentleman  laughs  and  winks,  and  drinks  and  laughs,  and  tears 
twinkle  out  of  his  tipsy  old  eyes,  as  he  wipes  them  with  one 
hand,  and  again  says,  "  How  much  will  you  give,  little  dis- 
countess ?  " 

When  poor  Caroline  went  to  her  cupboard,  and  from  it  took 
the  notes  and  the  gold  which  she  had  had  we  know  from  whom, 
and  added  to  these  out  of  a  cunning  box  a  little  heap  of  her 
own  private  savings,  and  with  trembling  hands  poured  the 
notes,  and  the  sovereigns,  and  the  shillings  into  a  dish  on  the 
table,  I  never  heard  accurately  how  much  she  laid  down.  But 
she  must  have  spread  out  everything  she  had  in  the  world  ;  for 
she  felt  her  pockets  and  emptied  them  ;  and,  tapping  her  head, 
she  again  applied  to  the  cupboard,  and  took  from  thence  a 
little  store  of  spoons  and  forks,  and  then  a  brooch,  and  then  a 
watch;  and  she  piled  these  all  up  in  a  dish,  and  she  said, 
"Now,  Mr.  Hunt,  I  will  give  you  all  these  for  that  bill."  And 
she  looked  up  at  Philip's  picture,  which  hung  over  the  parson's 
bloodshot,  satyr  face.     "Take   these,"  she  said,  "and  give  me 


^82  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

that !  There's  two  hundred  pound,  I  know ;  and  there's  thirty- 
four,  and  two  eighteen,  thirty-six  eighteen,  and  there's  the  plate 
and  watch,  and  1  wan't  that  bill." 

"  What  ?  have  you  got  all  this,  you  little  dear  ?  "  cried  Hunt, 
dropping  back  into  his  chair  again.  "  Why,  you're  a  little  for- 
tune, by  Jove — a  pretty  little  ^fortune,  a  little  discountess,  a 
little  wife,  a  little  fortune.  I  say,  I'm  a  University  man  ;  I 
could  write  alcaics  once  as  well  as  any  man.  I'm  a  gentleman. 
I  say,  how  much  have  you  got  ?     Count  it  over  again,  my  dear." 

And  again  she  told  him  the  amount  of  the  gold,  and  the 
notes,  and  the  silver,  and  the  number  of  the  poor  little  spoons. 

A  thought  came  across  the  fellow's  boozy  brain  :  "  If  you 
offer  so  much,"  says  he,  "  and  you're  a  little  discountess,  the 
bill's  worth  more;  that  fellow  must  be  making  his  fortune  !  Or 
do  you  know  about  it  t  1  say,  do  you  know  about  it  ?  No. 
I'll  have  my  bond.  I'll  have  my  bond  !  "  And  he  gave  a  tipsy 
imitation  of  Shylock,  and  lurched  back  into  his  chair,  and 
laughed. 

"  Let's  have  a  little  more,  and  talk  about  things,"  said  the 
poor  Little  Sister  ;  and  she  daintily  heaped  her  little  treasures 
and  arranged  them  in  her  dish,  and  smiled  upon  the  parson 
laughing  in  his  chair. 

"  Caroline,"  says  he,  after  a  pause,  "  you  are  still  fond  of 
that  old  bald-headed  scoundrel  !  That's  it !  Just  like  you 
women — just  like,  but  I  won't  tell.  No,  no,  I  won't  tell  !  You 
are  fond  of  that  old  swindler  still,  I  say  !  Wherever  did  you 
get  that  lot  of  money  ?  Look  here  now — with  that,  and  this 
little  bill  in  my  pocket,  there's  enough  to  carry  us  on  for  ever 
so  long.  And  when  this  money's  gone,  I  tell  you  I  know  who'll 
give  us  more,  and  who  can't  refuse  us,  I  tell  you.  Look  here, 
Caroline,  dear  Caroline  !  I'm  an  old  fellow,  I  know  \  but  I'm  a 
good  fellow  :  I'm  a  classical  scholar  :  and  I  am  a  gentleman." 

The  classical  scholar  and  gentleman  bleared  o\er  his  words 
as  he  uttered  them,  and  with  his  vinous  eyes  and  sordid  face 
gave  a  leer,  which  must  have  frightened  the  poor  little  lady  to 
whom  he  proffered  himself  as  a  suitor,  for  she  started  back  with 
a  pallid  face,  and  an  aspect  of  such  dislike  and  terror,  that 
even  her  guest  remarked  it. 

"  I  said  I  was  a  scholar  and  gentleman,'"  he  shrieked  again. 
"  Do  you  doubt  it  ?  I  am  as  good  a  man  as  Brummell  Firmin, 
I  say.  I  ain't  so  tall.  But  I'll  do  a  copy  of  Latin  alcaics  or 
Greek  iambics  against  him  or  any  man  of  my  weight.  Do  you 
mean  to  insult  me  ?  Don't  I  know  who  you  are  ?  Are  you 
better  than  a  Master  of  Arts  and  a  clergyman  t     He  went  out 


ON  ins  \VA  Y  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  583 

in  medicine,  Firmin  did.  Do  you  mean,  when  a  Master  of  Arts 
and  classical  scholar  offers  you  his  hand  and  fortune,  that 
you're  above  him  and  refuse  him,  by  George  ?  " 

The  Little  Sister  was  growing  bewildered  and  frightened 
by  the  man's  energy  and  horrid  looks.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Hunt  !  "  she 
cried,  "  see  here,  take  this  !  See — there  are  two  hundred  and 
thirty — thirty-six  pounds  and  all  these  things  !  Take  them,  and 
give  me  that  paper." 

"  Sovereigns,  and  notes,  and  spoons,  and  a  watch,  and  what 
I  have  in  my  pocket — and  that  ain't  much — and  Firmin's  bill  1 
I'hree  hundred  and  eighty-six  four  three.  It's  a  fortune,  my  dear, 
with  economy  !  I  won't  have  you  going  on  being  a  nurse  and 
that  kind  of  thing.  I'm  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman — I  am — and 
that  place  ain't  fit  for  Mrs.  Hunt.  We'll  first  spend  your  money. 
No  :  we'll  first  spend  my  money — three  hundred  and  eighty-six 
and — and  hang  the  change — and  when  that's  gone,  we'll  have 
another  bill  from  that  bald-headed  old  scoundrel  :  and  his  son 
who  struck  a  poor  cler We  will^  I  say,  Caroline — we " 

The  wretch  was  suiting  actions  to  his  words,  and  rose  once 
more,  advancing  towards  his  hostess,  who  shrank  back,  laugh- 
ing half-hysterically,  and  retreating  as  the  other  neared  her. 
Behind  her  was  that  cupboard  which  had  contained  her  poor 
little  treasure  and  other  stores,  and  appended  to  the  lock  of 
which  her  keys  were  still  hanging.  As  the  brute  approached 
her,  she  flung  back  the  cupboard  door  smartly  upon  him.  The 
keys  struck  him  on  the  head  ;  and  bleeding,  and  with  a  curse 
and  a  cry,  he  fell  back  on  his  chair. 

In  the  cupboard  was  that  bottle  which  she  had  received  from 
America  not  long  since  ;  and  about  which  she  had  talked  with 
Goodenough  on  that  very  day.  It  had  been  used  twice  or 
thrice  by  his  direction,  by  hospital  surgeons,  and  under  her 
eye.  She  suddenly  seized  this  bottle.  As  the  ruffian  before 
her  uttered  his  imprecations  of  wrath,  she  poured  out  a  quantity 
of  the  contents  of  the  bottle  on  her  handkerchief.  She  said, 
"  Oh  !  Mr.  Flunt,  have  I  hurt  you  ?  I  didn't  mean  it.  But  you 
shouldn't — you  shouldn't  frighten  a  lonely  woman  so  !  Here, 
let  me  bathe  you  !  Smell  this  !  It  will — it  will  do  you — good 
— it  will — it  will,  indeed."  The  handkerchief  was  over  his  face. 
Bewildered  by  drink  before,  the  fumes  of  the  liquor  which  he 
was  absorbing  served  almost  instantly  to  overcome  him.  He 
struggled  for  a  moment  or  two.  "  Stop  —  stop  !  you'll  be 
better  in  a  moment,"  she  w^hispered.  "  Oh,  yes  !  better,  quite 
better  !  "  She  squeezed  more  of  the  liquor  from  the  bottle  on 
to  the  handkerchief.     In  a  minute  Hunt  was  quite  .inanimate. 


584  ^-^^-^  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Then  the  little  pale  woman  leant  over  him,  and  took  the 
pocket-book  out  of  his  pocket,  and  from  it  the  bill  which  bore 
Philip's  name.  As  Hunt  lay  in  stupor  before  her,  she  now 
squeezed  more  of  the  liquor  over  his  head  ;  and  then  thrust  the 
bill  into  the  fire,  and  saw  it  burn  to  ashes.  Then  she  put  back 
the  pocket-book  into  Hunt's  breast.  She  said  afterwards  that 
she  never  should  have  thought  about  that  Chloroform,  but  for 
her  brief  conversation  with  Dr.  Goodenough  that  evening,  re- 
garding a  case  in  which  she  had  employed  the  new  remedy 
under  his  orders. 

How  long  did  Hunt  lie  in  that  stupor  ?  It  seemed  a  whole 
long  night  to  Caroline.  She  said  afterwards  that  the  thought 
of  that  act  that  night  made  her  hair  grow  gray.  Poor  little 
head  !     Indeed,  she  would  have  laid  it  down  for  Philip. 

Hunt,  I  suppose,  came  to  himself  w^hen  the  handkerchief 
was  withdrawn,  and  the  fumes  of  the  potent  liquor  ceased  to 
work  on  his  brain.  He  was  very  much  frightened  and  bewil- 
dered. "  What  was  it .''  Where  am  I .?"  he  asked,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  It  was  the  keys  struck  you  in  the  cupboard  door  when 
you — you  ran  against  it,"  said  pale  Caroline.  "  Look  !  you 
are  all  bleeding  on  the  head.     Let  me  dry  it." 

"  No  ;  keep  off !  "  cried  the  terrified  man. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cab  to  go  home  ?  The  poor  gentleman 
hit  himself  against  the  cupboard  door,  Mary.  You  remember 
him  here  before,  don't  you,  one  night }  "  And  Caroline,  with  a 
shrug,  pointed  out  to  her  maid,  whom  she  had  summoned,  the 
great  square  bottle  of  spirits  still  on  the  table,  and  indicated 
that  there  lay  the  cause  of  Hunt's  bewilderment. 

"  Are  you  better  now  ?  Will  you — will  you — take  a  little 
more  refreshment  ? "  asked  Caroline. 

"  No  !  "  he  cried  with  an  oath,  and  with  glaring,  bloodshot 
eyes  he  lurched  towards  his  hat. 

"  Lor',  mum  !  what  ever  is  it  ?  And  this  smell  in  the  room, 
and  all  this  here  heap  of  money  and  things  on  the  table  ?  " 

Caroline  flung  open  her  window.  "  It's  medicine,  which 
Dr.  Goodenough  has  ordered  for  one  of  his  patients.  I  must 
go  and  see  her  to-night,"  she  said.  And  at  midnight,  looking 
as  pale  as  death,  the  Little  Sister  went  to  the  doctor's  house, 
and  roused  him  up  from  his  bed,  and  told  him  the  story  here 
narrated.     '*  I  offered  him   all  you  gave  me,"  she  said,  "  and 

all  1   had  in  the    world   besides,  and  he  wouldn't — and " 

Here  she  broke  out  into  a  fit  of  hysterics.  The  doctor  had  to 
ring  up  his  servants  ;  to  administer  remedies  to  his  little  nurse; 
to  put  her  to  bed  in  his  own  house. 


JUDITH    AND    HOI.OFERNES. 


ON  HIS  VVA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  585 

"  By  the  immortal  Jove,"  he  said  afterwards,  "  I  had  a  great 
mind  to  beg  her  never  to  leave  it !  But  that  my  housekeeper 
would  tear  Caroline's  eyes  out,  Mrs.  Brandon  should  be  wel- 
come to  stay  for  ever.  Except  her  /^'s,  that  woman  has  every 
virtue  :  constancy,  gentleness,  generosity,  cheerfulness,  and  the 
courage  of  a  lioness  !  To  think  of  that  fool,  that  dandified 
idiot,  that  triple  ass,  Firmin  " — (there  were  few  men  in  the  world 
for  whom  Goodenough  entertained  a  greater  scorn  than  for  his 
late  confrere,  Firmin  of  Old  Parr  Street) — "  think  of  the  villain 
having  possessed  such  a  treasure — let  alone  his  having  decei\  cd 
and  deserted  her — of  his  having  possessed  such  a  treasure  and 
flung  it  away !  Sir,  I  always  admired  Mrs.  Brandon  ;  but  I 
think  ten  thousand  times  more  highly  of  her  since  her  glorious 
crime,  and  most  righteous  robbery.  If  the  villain  had  died, 
dropped  dead  in  the  street — the  drunken  miscreant,  forger, 
housebreaker,  assassin — so  that  no  punishment  could  have 
fallen  upon  poor  Brandon,  I  think  I  should  have  respected  her 
only  the  more  !  " 

At  an  early  hour  Dr.  Goodenough  had  thought  proper  to 
send  off  messengers  to  Philip  and  myself,  and  to  make  us  ac- 
quainted with  the  strange  adventure  of  the  previous  night.  We 
both  hastened  to  him.  I  myself  was  summoned,  no  doubt,  in 
consequence  of  my  profound  legal  knowledge,  which  might  be 
of  use  in  poor  little  Caroline's  present  trouble.  And  Philip 
came  because  she  longed  to  see  him.  By  some  instinct  she 
knew  when  he  arrived.  She  crept  down  from  the  chamber 
where  the  doctor's  housekeeper  had  laid  her  on  a  bed.  She 
knocked  at  the  doctor's  study,  where  we  were  all  in  consulta- 
tion. She  came  in  quite  pale,  and  tottered  towards  Philip, 
and  flung  herself  into  his  arms,  with  a  burst  of  tears  that 
greatly  relieved  her  excitement  and  fever.  Firmin  was  scarcely 
less  moved. 

"  You'll  pardon  me  for  what  I  have  done,  Philip,"  she 
sobbed.  ''  If  they — if  they  take  me  up,  you  won't  forsake 
me.'  ' 

"  Forsake  you  ?  Pardon  you  ?  Come  and  live  with  us, 
and  never  leave  us  !  "  cried  Philip. 

"  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Philip  would  like  that,  dear,"  said  tlie 
little  woman  sobbing  on  his  arm  ;  "  but  ever  since  the  Grey 
Friars  school,  when  you  was  so  ill,  you  have  been  like  a  son 
to  me,  and  somehow  I  couldn't  help  doing  that  last  night  to 
that  villain — I  couldn't." 

"  Serve  the  scoundrel  right.  Never  deserved  to  come  to 
life   again,  my  dear,"  said  Dr.  Goodenough.     "  Don't  you  be 


586  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  riJILIP 

exciting  yourself,  little  Erandon  !  I  must  have  you  sent  back 
to  lie  down  on  your  bed.  Take  her  up,  Philip,  to  the  little 
room  next  mine  ;  and  order  her  to  lie  down  and  be  as  quiet  as  a 
mouse.  You  are  not  to  move  till  I  give  you  leave,  IJrandon — 
mind  that,  and  come  back  to  us,  Firmin,  or  we  shall  have  the 
patients  coming." 

So  Philip  led  away  this  poor  Little  Sister ;  and  trembling, 
and  clinging  to  his  arm,  she  returned  to  the  room  assigned  to 
her. 

''  She  wants  to  be  alone  with  him,"  the  doctor  said  \  and  he 
spoke  a  brief  word  or  two  of  that  strange  delusion  under 
which  the  little  woman  labored,  that  this  was  her  dead  child 
come  back  to  her. 

'•  1  know  that  is  in  her  mind,"  Goodenough  said  ;  "  she 
never  got  over  that  brain  fever  in  which  I  found  her.  If  I 
were  to  swear  her  on  the  book,  and  say,  '  Brandon,  don't  you  be- 
lieve he  is  your  son  alive  again?  '  she  would  not  dare  to  say  no. 
She  will  leave  him  everything  she  has  got.  I  only  gave  her  so 
much  less  than  that  scoundrel's  bill  yesterday,  because  I  knew 
she  would  like  to  contribute  her  own  share.  It  would  have  of- 
fended her  mortally  to  have  been  left  out  of  the  subscription. 
They  like  to  sacrifice  themselves.  Wh}-^,  there  are  women  in 
India  who,  if,  not  allowed  to  roast  with  their  dead  husbands, 
would  die  of  vexation."  And  by  this  time  Mr.  Philip  came  strid- 
ing back  into  the  room  again,  rubbing  a  pair  of  very  red  eyes. 

"  Long  ere  this,  no  doubt,  that  drunken  ruffian  is  sobered, 
and  knows  that  the  bill  is  gone.  He  is  likely  enough  to  accuse 
her  of  tlie  robbery,"  says  the  doctor. 

"  Suppose,"  says  Philip's  other  friend,  "  I  had  put  a  pistol 
to  your  head,  and  was  going  to  shoot  you,  and  the  doctor  took 
the  pistol  out  of  my  hand,  and  flung  it  into  the  sea,  would  you 
help  me  to  prosecute  the  doctor  for  robbing  me  of  the  pistol }  " 

"  You  don't  suppose  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  pay  that 
bill  ?  "  said  Philip).  "  I  said,  if  a  certain  bill  were  presented  to 
me,  purporting  to  be  accepted  by  Philip  Firmin,  I  would  pay 
it.  Put  if  that  scoundrel.  Hunt,  only  says  that  he  had  such  a 
bill,  and  has  lost  it ;  I  will  cheerfully  take  my  oath  that  I  have 
never  signed  any  bill  at  all — and  they  can't  find  Brandon  guilty 
of  stealing  a  thing  which  never  existed." 

"  Let  us  hope,  then,  that  the  bill  was  not  in  duplicate  !  " 

And  to  this  wish  all  three  gentlemen  heartily  said  Amen  ! 

And  now  the  doctor's  door-bell  began  to  be  agitated  by 
arriving  patients.  His  dining  room  was  already  full  of  them. 
The  Little  Sister  must  lie  still,  and  the  discussion  of  her  affairs 


ON  HIS  WAY  TIIROUGII  THE  WORLD.  587 

must  be  deferred  to  a  more  convenient  hour  ;  and  I'liilip  and 
his  friend  agreed  to  reconnoitre  the  house  in  Thorniiaugii 
Street,  and  see  if  anything  had  happened  since  its  mistress 
had  left  it. 

Yes  :  sometliing  had  happened.  Mrs.  15randon"s  maid,  who 
ushered  us  into  her  mistress's  little  room,  told  us  that  in  the 
early  morning  that  horrible  man  who  had  come  over  night,  and 
been  so  tipsy,  and  behaved  so  ill, — the  very  same  man  who 
had  come  there  tipsy  afore  once,  and  whom  Mr.  Philip  had  flung 
into  the  street — had  come  battering  at  the  knocker,  and  pulling 
at  the  bell,  and  swearing  and  cursing  most  dreadful,  and  calling 
for  "  Mrs.  Brandon  !  Mrs.  Brandon  !  Mrs.  Brandon  !  "  and 
frightening  the  whole  street.  After  he  had  rung,  he  knocked 
and  battered  ever  so  long.  Mary  looked  out  at  him  from 
the  upper  window,  and  told  him  to  go  along  home,  or  she 
would  call  the  police.  On  this  the  man  roared  out  that  he 
would  call  the  police  himself  if  Mary  did  not  let  him  in  ;  and 
as  he  went  on  calling  "  Police  !  "  and  yelling  from  the  door, 
Mary  came  down  stairs,  and  opened  the  hall  door,  keeping  the 
chain  fastened,  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted  ? 

Hunt,  from  the  steps  without,  began  to  swear  and  rage 
more  loudly,  and  to  demand  to  be  let  in.  He  must  and  would 
see  Mrs.  Brandon. 

Mary,  from  behind  her  chain  barricade,  said  that  her  mis- 
tress was  not  at  home,  but  that  she  had  been  called  out  that 
night  to  a  patient  of  Dr.  Goodenough's. 

Hunt,  with  more  shrieks  and  curses,  said  it  was  a  lie  :  and 
that  she  was  at  home  ;  and  that  he  would  see  her  ;  and  that  he 
must  go  into  her  room ;  and  that  he  had  left  something  there  ] 
that  he  had  lost  something ;  and  that  he  would  have  it. 

"  Lost  something  here  .-' "  cried  Mary.  "  Why  here  ?  when 
you  reeled  out  of  this  house,  you  couldn't  scarce  walk,  and  you 
almost  fell  into  the  gutter,  which  I  have  seen  you  there  before. 
Get  away  and  go  home  !  You  are  not  sober  yet,  you  horrible 
man  ! " 

On  this,  clinging  on  to  the  area-railings,  and  demeaning  him- 
self like  a  madman,  Hunt  continued  to  call  out,  "  Police,  police  ! 
I  have  been  robbed,  I've  been  robbed  !  Police  !  "  until  astonished 
•tieads  appeared  at  various  windows  in  the  quiet  street,  and  a 
policeman  actually  came  up. 

When  the  policeman  appeared.  Hunt  began  to  sway  and  pull 
at  the  door,  confined  by  its  chain ;  and  he  frantically  reiterated 
his  charge,  that  he  had  been  robbed  and  hocussed  in  that  house, 
that  night,  by  Mrs.  Brandon. 


588  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

The  policeman,  l)y  a  familiar  expression,  conveyed  his  uttei 
disbeiiel  of  the  statement,  and  told  tiie  dirty,  disreputable  man 
to  move  on,  and  go  to  bed.  Mrs.  Brandon  was  known  and  re- 
spected all  around  the  neighborhood.  She  had  befriended 
numerous  poor  round  about ;  and  was  known  for  a  hundred 
charities.  She  attended  many  respectable  families.  In  that 
parish  there  was  no  woman  more  esteemed.  And  by  the  word 
'"Gammon,"  the  policeman  expressed  his  sense  of  the  utter 
absurdity  of  the  charge  against  the  good  lady. 

Hunt  still  continued  to  yell  out  that  he  had  been  robbed  and 
hocussed  ;  and  Mary  from  behind  her  door  repeated  to  the 
officer  (with  whom  she  perhaps  had  relations  not  unfriendly)  her 
statement  that  the  beast  had  gone  reeling  away  from  the  house 
the  night  before,  and  if  he  had  lost  anything,  who  knows  where 
he  might  not  have  lost  it .'' 

"  It  was  taken  out  of  this  pocket,  and  out  of  this  pocket- 
book,"  howled  Hunt  clinging  to  the  rail.  "  I  give  her  in  charge, 
I  give  the  house  in  charge  !     It's  a  den  of  thieves  !  " 

During  this  shouting  and  turmoil,  the  sash  of  a  window  in 
Ridley's  studio  was  thrown  up.  The  jDainter  was  going  to  his 
morning  work.  He  had  appointed  an  early  model.  The  sun 
could  not  rise  too  soon  for  Ridley  ;  and,  as  soon  as  ever  it  gave 
its  light,  found  him  happy  at  his  labor.  He  had  heard  from  his 
bedroom  the  brawl  going  on  about  the  door. 

"Mr.  Ridley  !  "  says  the  policeman,  touching  the  glazed  hat 
with  much  respect — (in  fact,  in  and  out  of  uniform,  Z  25  has 
figured  in  more  than  one  of  J.  J.'s  pictures) — "  Here's  a  fellow 
disturbing  the  whole  street,  and"  shouting  out  that  Mrs.  Brandon 
have  robbed  and  hocussed  him  !  " 

Ridley  ran  down  stairs  in  a  high  state  of  indignation. 
He  is  nervous,  like  men  of  his  tribe ;  quick  to  feel,  to  pity, 
to  love,  to  be  angry.  He  undid  the  chain,  and  ran  into  the 
street. 

"  I  remember  that  fellow  drunk  here  before,"  said  the 
painter  ;  "  and  lying  in  that  very  gutter." 

"  Drunk  and  disorderly  !  Come  along  !  "  cries  Z  25  ;  and 
his  hand  was  quickly  fastened  on  the  parson's  greasy  collar,  and 
under  its  strong  grasp  Hunt  is  forced  to  move  on.  He  goes, 
still  yelling  out  that  he  has  been  robbed. 

"Tell  that  to  his  worship,"  said  the  incredulous  Z.  And 
this  was  the  news  which  Mrs.  Brandon's  friends  received  from 
her  maid,  when  they  called  at  her  house. 


ON  UTS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  589 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

IN    WHICH    SEVERAL    PEOPLE    HAVE   THEIR   TRIALS. 

If  Philip  and  his  friend  had  happened  to  pass  through  High 
Street,  Marylebone,  on  their  way  to  Thornhaugh  Street  to  re- 
connoitre the  Little  Sister's  house,  they  would  have  seen  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Hunt,  in  a  ver)^  dirty,  battered,  crestfallen  and 
unsatisfactory  state,  marching  to  Marylebone  from  the  station, 
where  the  reverend  gentleman  had  passed  the  night,  and  under 
the  custody  of  the  police.  A  convoy  of  street  boys  followed  the 
prisoner  and  his  guard,  making  sarcastic  remarks  on  both. 
Hunt's  appearance  was  not  improved  since  we  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  him  on  the  previous  evening,  ^^'ith  a  grizzled  beard 
and  hair,  a  dingy  face,  a  ding}?^  shirt,  and  a  countenance  mottled 
with  dirt  and  drink,  we  may  fancy  the  reverend  man  passing  in 
tattered  raiment  through  the  street  to  make  his  appearance  be- 
fore the  magistrate. 

You  have  no  doubt  forgotten  the  narrative  which  appeared 
in  the  morning  papers  two  days  after  the  Thornhaugh  Street 
incident,  but  my  clerk  has  been  at  the  pains  to  hunt  up  and  copy 
the  police  report,  in  which  events  connected  with  our  history 
are  briefly  recorded. 

"  Marylebone,  Wednesday. — Thomas  Tufton  Hunt,  profess- 
ing to  be  a  clergyman,  but  wearing  an  appearance  of  extreme 
squalor,  was  brought  before  Mr.  Beaksby  at  this  office,  charged 
by  Z  25  with  being  drunk  and  very  disorderly  on  Tuesday  se'n- 
night,  and  endeavoring  by  force  and  threats  to  effect  his  re- 
entrance  into  a  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  from  which  he 
had  been  previously  ejected  in  a  most  unclerical  and  inebriated 
state. 

"  On  being  taken  to  the  station-house,  the  reverend  gentle- 
man lodged  a  complaint  on  his  own  side,  and  averred  that  he 
had  been  stupefied  and  hocussed  in  the  house  in  Thornhaugh 
Street  by  means  of  some  drug,  and  that,  whilst  in  this  state,  he 
had  been  robbed  of  a  bill  for  386/.  i^s.  2,d.,  drawn  by  a  person 
in  New  York,  and  accepted  by  Mr.  P.  Firmin,  barrister,  of 
Parchment  Buildings,  Temple. 

"  Mrs.  Brandon,  the  landlady  of  the  house.  No.  — ,  I'horn- 
haugh  Street,  has  been  in  the  habit  of  letting  lodgings  for  many 
years  past,  and  several  of  her  friends,  including  Mr.  Firmin, 


59° 


THE  ADVE.VTURES  OF  PHILIP 


Mr.  Ridley,  the  Rl.  Acad.,  and  other  gentlemen,  were  in  attend- 
ance to  .speak  to  her  character,  which  is  most  respectable. 
After  Z  25  had  given  evidence,  the  servant  deposed  that  Hunt 
had  been  more  than  once  disorderly  and  drunk  before  that  house, 
and  had  been  forcibly  ejected  from  it.  On  the  night  when  the 
alleged  robbery  was  said  to  have  taken  place,  he  had  visited 
the  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  had  left  it  in  an  inebriated 
state,  and  returned  some  hours  afterwards,  vowing  that  he  had 
been  robbed  of  the  document  in  question. 

"  Mr.  P.  Firmin  said  :  *  I  am  a  barrister,  and  have  chambers 
at  Parchment  Buildings,  Temple,  and  know  the  person  calling 
himself  Hunt.  I  have  not  accepted  any  bill  of  Exchange,  nor 
is  my  signature  affixed  to  any  such  document.' 

"  At  this  stage  the  worthy  magistrate  interposed,  and  said 
that  this  only  went  to  prove  that  the  bill  was  not  completed  by 
Mr.  F.'s  acceptance,  and  would  by  no  means  conclude  the  case 
set  up  before  him.  Dealing  with  it,  however,  on  the  merits,  and 
looking  at  the  way  in  which  the  charge  had  been  preferred,  and 
the  entire  absence  of  sufficient  testimony  to  warrant  him  in 
deciding  that  even  a  piece  of  paper  had  been  abstracted  in  that 
house,  or  by  the  person  accused,  and  believing  that  if  he  were 
to  commit,  a  conviction  would  be  impossible,  he  dismissed  the 
charge. 

"  The  lady  left  the  court  with  her  friends,  and  the  accuser, 
when  cilled  upon  to  pay  a  fine  for  drunkenness,  broke  out  into 
very  unclerical  language,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  was  forcibly 
removed." 

Philip  Firmin's  statement,  that  he  had  given  no  bill  of  ex- 
change, was  made  not  without  hesitation  on  his  part,  and  indeed 
at  his  friends'  strong  entreaty.  It- was  addressed  not  so  much 
to  the  sitting  magistrate,  as  to  that  elderly  individual  at  New 
York,  who  was  warned  no  more  to  forge  his  son's  name.  I  fear 
a  coolness  ensued  between  Philip  and  his  parent  in  consequence 
of  the  younger  man's  behavior.  The  doctor  had  thought  better 
of  his  boy  than  to  suppose  that,  at  a  nioment  of  necessity,  Philip 
would  desert  him.  He  forgave  Philip,  nevertheless.  Perhaps 
since  his  marriage  other  influcfices  were  at  work  upon  him,  &c. 
The  parent  made  further  remarks  in  this  strain.  A  man  who 
takes  your  money  is  naturally  offended  if  you  remonstrate  ;  you 
wound  his  sense  of  delicacy  by  protesting  against  liis  putting 
his  hand  in  your  pocket.  The  elegant  doctor  in  New  York 
continued  to  speak  of  his  unhappy  son  with  a  mournful  shake 
of  the  head  ;  he  said,  perhaps  believed,  that  l^hilip's  imprudence 
was  in  part  the  cause  of  his  own  exile.     "  This  is  not  the  kind 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  5Q1 

of  entertainment  to  which  I  would  have  in\itecl  you  at  my  own 
house  in  England,"  he  would  say.  "  I  thought  to  have  ended 
my  days  there,  and  to  have  left  my  son  in  comfort — nay,  splen- 
dor. I  am  an  exile  in  poverty  :  and  he — but  I  will  use  no 
hard  words."  And  to  his  female  patients  he  would  say  :  "  No, 
my  dear  madam  ! — not  a  syllable  of  reproach  shall  escape  these 
lips  regarding  that  misguided  boy  !  But  you  can  feel  for  me  \ 
I  know  you  can  feel  for  me."  In  the  old  days,  a  high-spirited 
highwayman,  who  took  a  coach-passenger's  purse,  thought  him- 
self injured,  and  the  traveller  a  shabby  fellow,  if  he  secreted  a 
guinea  or  two  under  the  cushions.  In  the  doctor's  now  rare 
letters,  he  breathed  a  manly  sigh  here  and  there,  to  think  that 
he  had  lost  the  confidence  of  his  boy.  I  do  believe  that  certain 
ladies  of  our  acquaintance  were  inclined  to  think  that  the  elder 
Firmin  had  been  not  altogether  well  used,  however  much  they 
loved  and  admired  the  Little  Sister  for  her  lawless  act  in  her 
boy's  defence.  But  this  main  point  we  had  won.  The  doctor 
at  New  York  took  the  warning,  and  wrote  his  son's  signature 
upon  no  more  bills  of  exchange.  The  good  Goodenough's  loan 
was  carried  back  to  him  in  the  very  coin  which  he  had  supplied. 
He  said  that  his  little  nurse  Brandon  was  spletidide  mendax,  and 
that  her  robbery  was  a  sublime  and  courageous  act  of  war. 

In  so  far,  since  his  marriage,  Mr.  Philip  had  been  pretty 
fortunate.  At  need,  friends  had  come  to  him.  In  moments  of 
peril  he  had  had  succor  and  relief.  Though  he  had  married 
without  money,  fate  had  sent  him  a  sufficiency.  His  flask  had 
never  been  empty,  and  there  was  always  meal  in  his  bin.  But 
now  hard  trials  were  in  store  for  him  :  hard  trials  which  we  ha\-e 
said  were  endurable,  and  which  he  has  long  since  lived  through. 
Any  man  who  has  played  the  game  of  life  or  whist,  knows  how 
for  one  while  he  will  have  a  series  of  good  cards  dealt  him,  and 
again  will  get  no  trumps  at  all.  After  he  got  into  his  house  in 
Mil  man  Street  and  quitted  the  Little  Sister's  kind  roof,  our 
friend's  good  fortune  seemed  to  desert  him.  "  Perhaps  it  was 
a  punishment  for  my  pride,  because  I  was  haughty  with  her, 
and — and  jealous  of  that  dear  good  little  creature,"  poor  Char- 
lotte afterwards  owned  in  conversation  with  other  friends  : — 
"but  our  fortune  seemed  to  change  when  we  were  away  from 
her,  and  that  I  must  own." 

Perhaps,  when  she  was  yet  under  Mrs.  Brandon's  roof,  the 
Little  Sister's  provident  care  had  done  a  great  deal  more  for 
Charlotte  than  Charlotte  knew.  Mrs.  Philip  had  the  most 
simple  tastes  in  the  world,  and  upon  herself  never  spent  an 
unnecessary  shilling.     Indeed,  it  was  a  wonder,  considering  her 


CQ2  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  rniLIP 

small  expenses,  how  neat  and  nice  Mrs.  Philip  ever  looked. 
But  she  never  could  deny  herself  when  the  children  were  in 
question  ;  and  had  them  arrayed  in  all  sorts  of  fine  clothes  ;  and 
stitched  and  hemmed  all  day  and  night  to  decorate  their  little 
persons  ;  and  in  reply  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  matrons  her 
friends,  showed  how  it  was  impossible  children  fould  be  dressed 
for  less  cost.     If  anything  ailed  them,  quick,  the  doctor  must 
be  sent  for.     Not  worthy  Goodenough,  who  came  without  a  fee, 
and  pooh-poohed  her  alarms  and  anxieties  ;  but  dear  Mr.  ]]land, 
who  had  a  feeling  heart,  and  was  himself  a  father  of  children, 
and  who  supported  those  children  by  the  produce  of  the  pills, 
draughts,  powders,  visits,   which  he  bestowed  on  all  families 
into  whose  doors  he  entered.     Bland's  sympathy  was  very  con- 
solatory ;  but  it  was  found  to  be  very  costly  at  the  end  of  the 
year.    "  And,  what  then  ?  "  says  Charlotte,  with  kindling  cheeks. 
"  Do  you  suppose  we  should  grudge  that  money,  which  was  to 
give  health  to  our  dearest,  dearest  babies  ?     No.     You  can't 
have  such  a  bad  opinion  of  me  as  that !  "     And  accordingly 
Mr.   Bland   received    a   nice   litde   annuity  from   our  friends. 
Philip  had  a  joke  about  his  wife's  housekeeping  which  perhaps 
may  apply  to  other  young  w^omen  who  are  kept  by  overwatchful 
mothers  too  much  in  statu pupillari.     \\nien  they  were  married, 
or  about  to  be  married,  Philip  asked  Charlotte  what  she  would 
order  for  dinner  ?     She  promptly  said  she  would  order  leg  of 
mutton.     "And  after  leg  of  mutton?"     "Leg  of  beef,  to  be 
sure  !  "  says  Mrs.  Charlotte,  looking  very  pleased,  and  knowing. 
And  the  fact  is,  as  this  little  housekeeper  was  obliged  demurely 
to  admit,  their  household  bills  increased  prodigiously  after  they 
left  Thornhaugh  Street.     "  And  I  can't  understand,  my  dear, 
how  the  grocer's  book  should  mount  up  so ;  and  the  butter- 
man's,  and  the  beer,"  &c.,  &c.     We  ha\-e  often  seen  the  pretty 
little  head  bent  over  the  dingy  volumes,  puzzling,  puzzling  :  and 
the  eldest   child  would   hokl  up  a  warning  finger  to  ours,  ^and 
tell  them  to  be  very  quiet,  as  mamma  was  at  her  "  atounts." 

And  now,  I  grieve  to  say,  money  became  scarce  for  the  pay- 
ment of  these  accounts  ;  and  though  Philip  fancied  he  hid  his 
anxieties  from  his  wife,  be  sure  she  loved  him  too  much  to  be 
deceived  by  one  of  the  clumsiest  hypocrites  in  the  world. 
Only,  being  a  much  cleverer  hypocrite  than  her  husband,  she 
pretended  to  be  deceived,  and  acted  her  part  so  well  that  poor 
Philip  was  mortified  with  her  gayety,  and  chose  to  fancy  his 
wife  was  indifferent  to  their  misfortunes.  She  ought  not  to  be 
so  smiling  and  happy,  he  thought ;  and,  as  usual,  bemoaned 
his  lot  to^his  friends.     "  I  come   home  racked  with  care,  and 


ON  HIS  WA  V  THROUGH  THE  WOkhtJ 


593 


thinking  of  those  inevitable  bills;  I  shuddet,  sir,  at  <ev£ry  note 
that  lies  on  the  hall  table,  and  would  tremble  as  I  dasned  them 
open  as  they  do  on  the  stage.  But  I  laugn  and  put  on  a  jaunty 
air  and  humbug  Char.  And  I  hear  her  singing  about  the  house 
and  laughing  and  cooing  with  the  childien,  by  Jove  !  She^s  not 
aware  of  anything.  She  does  not  know  how  dreadfully  the  res 
doml  is  squeezing  me.  But  before  marriage  she  did,  I  tell  you. 
Then,  if  anything  annoyed  me,  she  di\dned  it.  If  I  felt  ever  so 
little  unwell,  you  should  have  seen  the  alarm  on  her  face  !  It 
was,  'Philip  dear,  how  pale  you  are;'  or,  'Philip,  how  flushed 
you  are;'  or,  'I  am  sure  you  have  had  a  letter  from  your 
father.  Why  do  you  conceal  anything  from  me,  sir  ?  You 
never  should — never  ! '  And  now  when  the  fox  is  gnawing  at 
my  side  under  my  cloak,  I  laugh  and  grin  so  naturally  that  she 
believes  I  am  all  right,  and  she  comes  to  meet  me  flouncing  the 
children  about  in  my  face,  and  wearing  an  air  of  consummate 
happiness  !  I  would  not  deceive  her  for  the  world,  you  know. 
But  it's  mortifying.  Don't  tell  me.  It  is  mortifying  to  be 
tossing  awake  all  night,  and  racked  with  care  all  day,  and  have 
the  wife  of  your  bosom  chattering  and  singing  and  laughing,  as 
if  there  were  no  cares,  or  doubts,  or  duns  in  the  world.  If  I 
had  the  gout  and  she  were  to  laugh  and  sing,  I  should  not  call 
that  sympathy.  If  I  were  arrested  for  debt,  and  she  were  to 
come  grinning  and  laughing  to  the  sponging-house,  I  should 
not  call  that  consolation.  Why  doesn't  she  feel  ?  She  ought  to 
feel.  There's  Betsy,  our  parlor-maid.  There's  the  old  fellow 
who  comes  to  clean  the  boots  and  knives.  They  know  how 
hard  up  I  am.  And  my  wife  sings  and  dances  whilst  I  am  on 
the  verge  of  ruin,  by  Jove  ;  and  giggles  and  laughs  as  if  life 
was  a  pantomime  !  " 

Then  the  man  and  woman  into  whose  ears  poor  Philip 
roared  out  his  confessions  and  griefs,  hung  down  their  blushing 
heads  in  humble  silence.  They  are  tolerably  prosperous  in 
life,  and,  I  fear,  are  pretty  well  satisfied  with  themselves  and 
each  other.      A  woman  who  scarcely  ever  does  any  wrong, 

and  rules  and  governs  her  own  house  and  family,  as  my , 

as  the  wife  of  the  reader's  humble  servant  most  notoriously 
does,  often  becomes — must  it  be  said  1 — too  certain  of  her  own 
virtue,  and  is  too  sure  of  the  correctness  of  her  own  opinion. 
We  virtuous  people  give  advice  a  good  deal,  and  set  a  consider- 
able value  upon  that  advice.  We  meet  a  certain  man  who  has 
fallen  among  thieves,  let  us  say.  We  succor  him  readily  enough. 
We  take  him  kindly  to  the  inn,  and  pay  his  score  there  ;  but  we 
say  to  the  landlord,  "  You  must  give  this  poor  man  his  bed ; 

38 


594 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


his  medicine  at  such  a  time,  and  liis  broth  at  such  another. 
But,  mind  you,  he  must  have  that  physic,  and  no  other;  that 
broth  when  we  order  it.  We  take  his  case  in  hand,  you  under- 
stand. Don't  hsten  to  him  or  anybody  else.  We  know  all 
about  everything.  Good-by.  Take  care  of  him.  Mind  the 
medicine  and  the  broth  !  "  and  Mr.  Benefactor  or  Lady  Bounti- 
ful goes  away,  perfectly  self-satisfied. 

Do  you  take  this  allegory?  When  Philip  complained  to  us 
of  his  wife's  friskiness  and  gayety  ;  when  he  bitterly  contrasted 
her  levity  and  carelessness  with  his  own  despondency  and 
doubt,  Charlotte's  two  principal  friends  were  smitten  by  shame. 
"Oh,  Philip!  dear  Philip!"  his  female  adviser  said  (having 
looked  at  her  husband  once  or  twice  as  Firmin  spoke,  and  in 
vain  endeavored  to  keep  her  guilty  eyes  down  on  her  work), 
"  Charlotte  has  done  this,  because  she  is  humble,  and  because 
she  takes  the  advice  of  friends  who  are  not.  She  knows  every- 
thing, and  more  than  everything  ;  for  her  dear  tender  heart  is 
filled  with  apprehension.  But  we  told  her  to  show  no  sign  of 
care,  lest  her  husband  should  be  disturbed.  And  she  trusted 
in  us  ;  and  she  puts  her  trust  elsewhere,  Philip ;  and  she  has 
hidden  her  own  anxieties,  lest  yours  should  be  increased  ;  and 
has  met  you  gayly  when  her  heart  was  full  of  dread.  We  think 
she  has  done  wrong  now ;  but  she  did  so  because  she  was  so 
simple,  and  trusted  in  us  who  advised  her  wrongly.  Now  we 
see  that  there  ought  to  have  been  perfect  confidence  always 
between  you,  and  that  it  is  her  simplicity  and  faith  in  us  which 
have  misled  her." 

Philip  hung  down  his  head  for  a  moment,  and  hid  his  eyes  ; 
and  we  knew,  during  that  minute  when  his  face  was  concealed 
from  us,  how  his  grateful  heart  was  employed. 

"And  you   know,  dear    Philip "  says  Laura,  looking  at 

her  husband,  and  nodding  to  that  person,  who  certainly  under- 
stood the  hint. 

"And  1  say,  Firmin,"  breaks  in  the  lady's  husband,  "you 
understand,  if  you  are  at  all — that  is,  if  you  —  that  is  if  we 
can " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  shouts  Firmin,  with  a  face  beaming 
over  with  happiness.  "  I  know  what  you  mean.  You  beggar, 
you  are  going  to  offer  me  money !  I  see  it  in  your  face  ;  bless 
you  both  !  But  we'll  try  and  do  without,  please  heaven.  And 
— and  it's  worth  feeling  a  pinch  of  poverty  to  find  such  friends 
as  I  have  had,  and  to  share  it  with  such  a — such  a — dash — 
dear  little  thing  as  I  have  at  home.  And  I  won't  try  and 
humbug  Char  any  more.     I'm  bad  at  that  sort  of  business. 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


595 


And  good-night,  and  Til  never  forget  your  kindness,  never  !  " 
And  he  is  off  a  moment  afterwards,  and  jumping  down  the  steps 
of  our  door,  and  so  into  the  park.  And  though  there  were  not 
five  pounds  in  the  poor  little  house  in  Milman  Street,  there 
were  not  two  happier  people  in  London  that  night  than  Char- 
lotte and  Philip  Firmin.  If  he  had  his  troubles,  our  friend 
had  his  immense  consolations.  Fortunate  he,  however  poor, 
who  has  friends  to  help,  and  love  to  console  him  in  his  trials. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

IN    WHICH    THE    LUCK    GOES    VERY    I\IUCH    AGAINST    US. 

Every  man  and  woman  amongst  us  has  made  his  voyage  to 
Lilliput,  and  his  tour  in  the  kingdom  of  Brobdingnag.  When 
I  go  to  my  native  country  town,  the  local  paper  announces  our 
arrival ;  the  laborers  touch  their  hats,  as  the  pony-chaise 
passes,  the  girls  and  old  women  drojD  curtsies;  Mr.  Hicks,  the 
grocer  and  hatter,  comes  to  his  door  and  makes  a  bow,  and 
smirks  and  smiles.  When  our  neighbor  Sir  John  arrives  at  the 
hall,  he  is  a  still  greater  personage  ;  the  bell-ringers  greet  the 
hall  family  with  a  peal  ;  the  rector  walks  over  on  an  early  day, 
and  pays  his  visit ;  and  the  farmers  at  market  press  round  for 
a  nod  of  recognition.  Sir  John  at  h»me  is  in  Lilliput :  in 
Belgrave  Square  he  is  in  Brobdingnag,  where  almost  everybody 
we  meet  is  ever  so  much  taller  than  ourselves.  "  Whfch  do 
you  like  best,  to  be  a  giant  amongst  the  pigmies,  or  a  pigmy 
amongst  the  giants  ? "  I  know  what  sort  of  company  I  prefer 
myself :  but  that  is  not  the  point.  What  I  would  hint  is,  that 
we  possibly  give  ourselves  patronizing  airs  before  small  jDcople, 
as  folks  higher  placed  than  ourselves  give  themselves  airs 
before  ns.  Patronizing  airs  .^  Old  Miss  Mumbles,  the  half-pay 
lieutenant's  daughter,  who  lives  over  the  plumber's,  with  her 
maid,  gives  herself  in  her  degree  more  airs  than  any  duchess 
in  Belgravia,  and  would  leave  the  room  if  a  tradesman's  wife 
sat  down  in  it. 

Now  it  has  been  said  that  few  men  in  this  city  of  London 
are  so  simple  in  their  manners  as  Philip  Firmin,  and  that  he 
treated  the  patron  whose  bread  he  ate,  and  the  wealthy  relative 
who  condescended   to  visit  him,  with  a  like  freedom.     He  is 


596  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  P/ll/JP 

blunt,  but  not  familiar,  and  is  not  a  whit  more  polite  to  my 
lord  than  to  Jack  or  Tom  at  the  coffee-house,  lie  resents 
familiarity  from  vulgar  persons,  and  those  who  venture  on  it 
retire  maimed  and  mortified  after  coming  into  collision  with 
him.  As  for  the  people  he  loves,  he  groveb  before  them, 
worships  their  boot-tips,  and  their  gown-hems.  But  he  submits 
to  them,  not  for  their  wealth  or  rank,  but  for  love's  sake.  He 
submitted  very  magnanimously,  at  first,  to  the  kindnesses  and 
caresses  of  Lady  Ringwood  and  her  daughters,  being  softened 
and  won  by  the  regard  which  they  showed  for  his  wife  and 
children. 

Although  Sir  John  was  for  the  Rights  of  Man  everywhere, 
all  over  the  world,  and  had  pictures  of  Franklin,  Lafayette,  and 
Washington  in  his  library,  he  likewise  had  portraits  of  his  own 
ancestors  in  that  apartment,  and  entertained  a  very  high 
opinion  of  the  present  representative  of  the  Ringwood  family. 
The  character  of  the  late  chief  of  the  house  was  notorious. 
Lord  Ringwood's  life  had  been  irregular  and  his  morals  loose. 
His  talents  were  considerable,  no  doubt,  but  they  had  not  been 
devoted  to  serious  study  or  directed  to  useful  ends.  A  wild 
man  in  early  life,  he  had  only  changed  his  practices  in  later  life 
in  consequence  of  ill  health,  and  became  a  hermit  as  a  Certain 
Person  became  a  monk.  He  was  a  frivolous  person  to  the  end, 
and  was  not  to  be  considered  as  a  public  man  and  statesman  ; 
and  this  light-minded  man  of  pleasure  had  been  advanced  to  the 
third  rank  of  the  peerage,  whilst  his  successor,  his  superior  in 
intellect  and  morality,  remained  a  Baronet  still.  How  blind 
the  Ministry  w\as  whic^h  refused  to  recognize  so  much  talent  and 
worth  !  Had  there  been  public  virtue  or  common  sense  in  the 
governors  of  the  nation,  merits  like  Sir  John's  never  could  have 
been  overlooked.  But  Ministers  were  notoriously  a  family 
clique,  and  only  helped  each  other.  Promotion  and  patronage 
were  disgracefully  monopolized  by  the  members  of  a  very  few 
families  who  were  not  better  men  of  business,  men  of  better 
character,  men  of  more  ancient  lineage  (though  birth,  of  course, 
was  a  mere  accident)  than  Sir  John  himself.  In  a  w^ord,  until 
they  gave  him  a  peerage,  he  saw  very  little  hope  for  the  cabinet 
or  the  country. 

In  a  very  early  page  of  this  history  mention  was  made  of  a 
certain  Philip  Ringwood,  to  whose  protection  Philip  Firmin's 
mother  confided  her  boy  when  he  was  first  sent  to  school. 
Philip  Ringwood  was  Firmin's  senior  by  seven  years  ;  he  came 
to  Old  I'arr  Street  twice  or  thrice  during  his  stay  at  school, 
condescended   to  take   the  "  tips,"  of  which  the  poor  doctor 


ON'  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  597 

was  liberal  enough,  but  never  deigned  to  take  any  notice  of 
young  Firmin,  who  looked  up  to  his  kinsman  with  awe  and 
trembling.  From  school  Philip  Ringwood  speedily  departed  to 
college,  and  then  entered  upon  public  life.  He  was  the  eldest 
son  of  Sir  John  Ringwood,  with  whom  our  friend  has  of  late 
made  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Ringwood  was  a  much  greater  personage  than  the 
baronet  his  father.  Even  when  the  latter  succeeded  to  Lord 
Ringwood's  estates  and  came  to  London,  he  could  scarcely  be 
said  to  equal  his  son  in  social  rank  ;  and  the  younger  patronized 
his  parent.  What  is  the  secret  of  great  social  success  ?  It  is 
not  to  be  gained  by  beauty,  or  wealth,  or  birth,  or  wit,  or  valor, 
or  eminence  of  any  kind.  It  is  a  gift  of  Fortune,  bestowed, 
like  that  goddess's  favors,  capriciously.  Look,  dear  madam,  at 
the  most  fashionable  ladies  at  present  reigning  in  London. 
Are  they  better  bred,  or  more  amiable,  or  richer,  or  more 
beautiful  than  j^ourself  ?  See,  good  sir,  the  men  who  lead  the 
fashion,  and  stand  in  the  bow-window  at  "  Black's  ;  "  are  they 
wiser,  or  wittier,  or  more  agreeable  people  than  you  ?  And  yet 
you  know  what  your  fate  would  be  if  you  were  put  up  at  that 
club.  Sir  John  Ringwood  never  dared  to  be  proposed  there, 
even  after  his  great  accession  of  fortune  on  the  earl's  death. 
His  son  did  not  encourage  him.  People  even  said  that  Ring- 
wood  would  blackball  his  father  if  he  dared  to  offer  himself  as 
a  candidate. 

I  never,  I  say,  could  understand  the  reason  of  Philip  Ring- 
wood's  success  in  life,  though  you  must  acknowledge  that  he  is 
one  of  our  most  eminent  dandies.  He  is  affable  to  dukes.  He 
patronizes  marquises.  He  is  not  witty.  He  is  not  clever. 
He  does  not  give  good  dinners.  How  many  baronets  are  there 
in  the  British  empire  ?  Look  to  your  book,  and  see.  I  tell  you 
there  are  many  of  these  whom  Philip  Ringwood  would  scarcely 
admit  to  wait  at  one  of  his  bad  dinners.  By  calmly  asserting 
himself  in  life,  this  man  has  achieved  his  social  eminence.  We 
may  hate  him ;  but  we  acknowledge  his  superiority.  For 
instance,  I  should  as  soon  think  of  asking  him  to  dine  with 
me,  as  I  should  of  slapping  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  on 
the  back. 

Mr.  Ringwood  has  a  meagre  little  house  in  May  Fair,  and 
belongs  to  a  public  ofifice,  where  he  patronizes  his  chef.  His 
own  family  bow  down  before  him  ;  his  mother  is  humble  in  his 
company  ;  his  sisters  are  respectful ;  his  father  does  not  brag 
of  his  own  liberal  principles,  and  never  alludes  to  the  rights  of 
man  in  the  son's  presence.     He  is  called  "  Mr.  Ringwood  "  in 


598 


THE  AD  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


the  family.  The  person  who  is  least  in  awe  of  him  is  his 
younger  brother,  who  has  been  known  to  make  faces  behind 
the  elder's  back.  JJut  he  is  a  dreadfully  headstrong  and  ig- 
norant child,  and  respects  nothing.  Lady  Ringwood,  by  the 
way,  is  Mr.  Ringwood's  step-mother.  His  own  mother  was  the 
daughter  of  a  nol)le  house,  and  died  in  giving  birth  to  this  par- 
agon. 

Philip  Firmin,  who  had  not  set  eyes  upon  his  kinsman  since 
they  were  at  school  together,  remembered  some  stories  which 
were  current  about  Ringwood,  and  by  no  means  to  that  eminent 
dandy's  credit — stories  of  intrigue,  of  play,  of  various  libertine 
exploits  on  Mr.  Ringwood's  part.  One  day,  Philip  and  Char- 
lotte dined  with  Sir  John,  who  was  talking  and  chirping,  and 
laying  down  the  law,  and  bragging  away  according  to  his  wont, 
when  his  son  entered  and  asked  for  dinner.  He  had  accepted 
an  invitation  to  dine  at  Carterton  House.  The  Duke  had  one 
of  his  attacks  of  gout  just  before  dinner.  The  dinner  was  off. 
If  Lady  Ringwood  would  give  him  a  slice  of  mutton,  he  would 
be  very  much  obliged  to  her.  A  place  was  soon  found  for 
him.  "  And,  Philip,  this  is  your  namesake,  and  our  cousin, 
Mr.  Philip  Firmin,"  said  the  Baronet,  presenting  his  son  to  his 
kinsman. 

"  Your  father  used  to  give  me.  sovereigns,  when  I  was  at 
school.  I  have  a  faint  recollection  of  you,  too.  Little  white- 
headed  boy,  weren't  you  ?  How  is  the  doctor,  and  Mrs.  Fir- 
min ?     All  right .?  " 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  his  father  ran  away  ?  "  calls  out  the 
youngest  member  of  the  family.  "  Don't  kick  me,  Fmily.  He 
did  run  away." 

Then  Mr.  Ringwood  remembered,  and  a  faint  blush  tinged 
his  face.  "  Lapse  of  time.  I  know.  Shouldn't  have  asked 
after  such  a  lapse  of  time."  And  he  mentioned  a  case  in  which 
a  duke,  who  was  very  forgetful,  had  asked  a  marquis  about  his 
wife  who  had  run  away  with  an  earl,  and  made  inquiries  about 
the  duke's  son,  who,  as  everybody  knew,  was  not  on  terms  with 
his  father. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Firmin — Mrs.  Philip  Firmin  \  "  cried  Lady 
Ringwood,  rather  nervously  ;  and  I  suppose  Mrs.  Philip  blushed, 
and  the  blush  became  her ;  for  Mr.  Ringwood  afterwards  con- 
descended to  say  to  one  of  his  sisters,  that  their  new-found 
relative  seemed  one  of  your  rough-and-ready  sort  of  gentlemen, 
but  his  wife  was  really  very  well  bred,  and  quite  a  pretty  young 
woman,  and  presentable  anywhere — really  anywhere.  Char- 
lottf  was  asked  to  sing  one   or  two   of  her  little  songs  after 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  599 

dinner,  Mr.  Ringwood  was  delighted.  Her  voice  was  perfectly 
true.  What  she  sang,  she  sang  admirably.  And  he  was  good 
enough  to  hum  over  one  of  her  songs  (during  which  performance 
he  showed  that  his  voice  was  not  exempt  from  little  frailties), 
and  to  say  he  had  heard  Lady  Philomela  Shakerley  sing  that 
very  song  at  Glenmavis,  last  autumn  ;  and  it  was  such  a  favorite 
that  the  Duchess  asked  for  it  every  night — actually  every  night. 
When  our  friends  were  going  home,  Mr.  Ringwood  ga\e  Philip 
almost  the  whole  of  one  finger  to  shake  ;  and  while  Philip  was 
inwardly  raging  at  his  impertinence,  believed  that  he  had 
entirely  fascinated  his  humble  relatives,  and  that  he  had  been 
most  good-natured  and  friendly. 

I  cannot  tell  why  this  man's  patronage  chafed  and  goaded 
our  worthy  friend  so  as  to  drive  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  all 
politeness  and  reason.  The  artless  remarks  of  the  little  boy, 
and  the  occasional  simple  speeches  of  the  young  ladies,  had 
only  tickled  Philip's  humor,  and  served  to  amuse  him  when  he 
met  his  relatives.  I  suspect  it  was  a  certain  free-and-easy  manner 
which  Mr.  Ringwood  chose  to  adopt  towards  Mrs.  Philip,  which 
annoyed  her  husband.  He  had  said  nothing  at  which  offence 
could  be  taken  :  perhaps  he  was  quite  unconscious  of  offend- 
ing ;  nay,  thought  himself  eminently  pleasing  :  perhaps  he  was 
not  more  impertinent  towards  her  than  towards  other  women  : 
but  in  talking  about  him,  Mr.  Firmin's  eyes  flashed  very  fiercely, 
and  he  spoke  of  his  new  acquaintance  and  relative,  with  his 
usual  extreme  candor,  as  an  upstart,  and  an  arrogant  conceited 
puppy  whose  ears  he  would  like  to  pull. 

How  do  good  women  learn  to  discover  men  who  are  not 
good  ?  Is  it  by  instinct  ?  How  do  they  learn  those  stories 
about  men  ?  I  protest  I  never  told  my  wife  anything  good  or  bad 
regarding  this  Mr.  Ringwood,  though  of  course,  as  a  man  about 
town,  I  have  heard — who  has  not  ? — little  anecdotes  regard- 
ing his  career.  His  conduct  in  that  affair  with  Miss  Willowby 
was  heartless  and  cruel  ;  his  behavior  to  that  unhappy  Blanche 
Painter  nobody  can  defend.  My  wife  conveys  her  opinion 
regarding  Philip  Ringwood,  his  life,  principles,  and  morality,  by 
looks  and  silences  which  are  more  awful  and  killing  than  the 
bitterest  words  of  sarcasm  cr  reproof.  Philip  Firmin,  who 
knows  her  ways,  watches  her  features,  and,  as  I  have  said,  hum- 
bles himself  at  her  feet,  marked  the  lady's  awful  looks,  when 
he  came  to  describe  to  us  his  meeting  with  his  cousin,  and 
the  magnificent  patronizing  airs  which  Mr.  Ringwood  assumed. 

"What?"  he  said,  "you  don't  like  him  anymore  than  I 
do .''     I  thought  you  would  not ;  and  I  am  so  glad." 


6oo  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Philip's  friend  said  she  did  not  know  Mr.  Ringwood,  and 
'.ad  never  spoken  a  word  to  him  in  her  life. 

"  Yes  ;  but  you  know  of  him,"  cries  the  impetuous  Firmin. 
"  What  do  you  know  of  him,  with  his  monstrous  puppyism  and 
arrogance  ?  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Laura  knew  very  little  of  him.  She 
did  not  believe — she  had  much  rather  not  believe — what  the 
ivorld  said  about  Mr.  Ringwood. 

"  Suppose  we  were  to  ask  the  Woolcombs  their  opinion  of 
your  character,  Philip  ?  "  cries  that  gentleman's  biographer, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  My  dear  !  "  says  Laura,  with  a  yet  severer  look,  the  severity 
of  which  glance  I  must  explain.  The  differences  of  Woolcomb 
and  his  wife  were  notorious.  Their  unhappiness  was  known  to 
all  the  world.  Society  was  beginning  to  look  with  a  very,  very 
cold  face  upon  Mrs.  Woolcomb.  After  quarrels,  jealousies, 
battles,  reconciliations,  scenes  of  renewed  violence  and  furious 
language,  had  come  indifference,  and  the  most  reckless  gayety 
on  the  woman's  part.  Her  home  was  splendid,  but  mean  and 
miserable ;  all  sorts  of  stories  were  rife  regarding  her  hus- 
band's brutal  treatment  of  poor  Agnes,  and  her  own  imprudent 
behavior.  Mrs.  Laura  was  indignant  when  this  unhappy 
woman's  name  was  ever  mentioned,  except  when  she  thought 
how  our  warm,  true-hearted  Philip  had  escaped  from  the  heart- 
less creature.  "  Wliat  a  blessing  it  was  that  you  were  ruined, 
Philip,  and  that  she  deserted  you  !  "  Laura  would  say.  "  W'hat 
fortune  would  repay  you  for  marrying  such  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  was  worth  all  I  had  to  lose  her,"  says  Philip, 
"  and  so  the  doctor  and  I  are  quits.  If  he  had  not  spent  my 
fortune,  Agnes  would  have  married  me.  If  she  had  married 
me,  I  might  have  turned  Othello,  and  have  been  hung  for 
smothering  her.  Why,  if  I  had  not  been  poor,  I  should  never 
have  been  married  to  little  Char — and  fancy  not  being  married 
to  Char!  "  The  worthy  fellow  here  lapses  into  silence,  and  in- 
dulges in  an  inward  rupture  at  the  idea  of  his  own  excessive 
hapiDiness.  Then  he  is  scared  again  at  the  thought  which  his 
own  imagination  has  raised. 

"  I  say  !  Fancy  being  without  the  kids  and  Char  !  "  he 
cries  with  a  blank  look. 

"  That  horrible  father — that  dreadful  mother — pardon  me, 
Philip  ;  but  when  I  tliink  of  the  worldliness  of  those  unhappy 
people,  and  how  that  poor  unhappy  woman  has  been  bred  in  it, 
and  ruined  by  it — I  am  so,  so,  so  enraged,  that  I  can't  keep  my 
temper !  "  cries  the  lady.  "  Is  the  woman  answerable,  or  the 
parents,  who  hardened  her  heart,  and  sold  her — sold  her  to 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  60 1 

that O  !  "     Our  illustrious  friend  Woolcomb  was  signified 

by  "that  O,"  an^l  the  lady  once  more  paused,  choked  with 
wrath  as  she  thought  about  that  O,  and  that  O's  wife. 

"  I  wonder  he  has  not  Othello'd  her,"  remarks  Philip,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  I  should,  if  she  had  been  mine, 
and  gone  on  as  they  say  she  is  going  on." 

"  It  is  dreadful,  dreadful  to  contemplate  !  "  continues  the 
lady.  "  To  think  she  was  sold  by  her  own  parents,  poor  thing, 
poor  thing !     The  guilt  is  with  them  who  led  her  wrong." 

"  Nay,"  says  one  of  the  three  interlocutors.  "Why  stop 
at  poor  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twysden  ?  Why  not  let  them  off,  and 
accuse  theh-  parents  ?  who  lived  worldly  too  in  their  generation. 
Or  stay ;  they  descend  from  William  the  Conqueror.  Let  us 
absolve  poor  Talbot  Twysden  and  his  heartless  wife,  and  have 
the  Norman  into  court." 

"  Ah,  Arthur !  Did  not  our  sin  begin  with  the  beginning," 
cries  the  lady,  "  and  have  we  not  its  remedy  ?  Oh,  this  poor 
creature,  this  poor  creature  !  May  she  know  where  to  take  re- 
fuge from  it,  and  learn  to  repent  in  time  !  " 

The  Georgian  and  Circassian  girls,  they  say,  used  to  sub- 
mit to  their  lot  very  complacently,  and  were  quite  eager  to  get 
to  market  at  Constantinople  and  be  sold.  Mrs.  Woolcomb 
wanted  nobody  to  tempt  her  away  from  poor  Philip.  She  hop- 
ped away  from  the  old  love  soon  as  ever  the  new  one  appeared 
with  his  bag  of  money.  She  knew  quite  well  to  whom  she  was 
selling  herself,  and  for  what.  The  tempter  needed  no  skill,  or 
artifice,  or  eloquence.  He  had  none.  But  he  showed  her  a 
purse,  and  three  fine  houses — and  she  came.  Innocent  child, 
forsooth  !  She  knew  quite  as  much  about  the  world  as  papa 
and  mamma;  and  the  lawyers  did  not  look  to  her  settlement 
more  warily,  and  coolly,  than  she  herself  did.  Did  she  not 
live  on  it  afterwards  ?  I  do  not  say  she  lived  reputably,  but 
most  comfortably :  as  Paris,  and  Rome,  and  Naples,  and  Flor- 
ence can  tell  you,  where  she  is  known  ;  where  she  receives  a 
great  deal  of  a  certain  kind  of  company  \  where  she  is  scorned 
and  flattered,  and  splendid,  and  lonely,  and  miserable.  She  is 
not  miserable  when  she  sees  children  :  she  does  not  care  for 
other  persons'  children,  as  she  never  did  for  her  own,  even 
when  they  were  taken  from  her.  She  is  of  course  hurt  and 
angry,  when  quite  common,  vulgar  people,  not  in  society,  you 
understand,  turn  away  from  her,  and  avoid  her,  and  won't 
come  to  '""sr  parties.  She  gives  excellent  dinners  which  jolly 
fogeys,  raxtling  bachelors,  and  doubtful  ladies  frequent  :  but 
she  is  alone  and  unhappy — unhappy  because   she  does  not  see 


6o2  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

parents,  sister,  or  brother?  Allans,  man  bon  Monsieur!  She 
never  cared  for  parents,  sister,  or  brother  ;  or  for  baby :  or 
for  man  (except  once  for  Phihp  a  little,  little  bit,  when  her 
pulse  would  sometimes  go  up  two  beats  in  a  minute  at  his  ap- 
pearance). But  she  is  unhapp)',  because  she  is  losing  her 
figure,  and  from  tight  lacing  her  nose  has  become  very  red,  and 
the  pearl-powder  won't  lie  on  it  somehow.  And  though  you 
may  have  thought  Woolcomb  an  odious,  ignorant,  and  under- 
bred little  wretch,  you  must  own  that  at  least  he  had  red  blood 
in  his  veins.  Did  he  not  spend  a  great  part  of  his  fortune  for 
the  possession  of  this  cold  wife  .?  For  whom  did  she  ever  make 
a  sacrifice,  or  feel  a  pang }  I  am  sure  a  greater  misfortune 
than  any  which  has  befallen  friend  Philip  might  have  happened 
to  him,  and  so  congratulate  him  on  his  escape. 

Having  vented  his  wrath  upon  the  arrogance  and  imper- 
tinence of  thi-s  solemn  puppy  of  a  Philip  Ringwood,  our  friend 
went  away  somewhat  soothed  to  his  club  in  St.  James's  Street. 
The  "  Megatherium  Club  "  is  only  a  very  few  doors  from  the 
much  more  aristocratic  establishment  of  "Black's."  Mr.  Philip 
Pdngwood  and  Mr.  Woolcomb  were  standing  on  the  steps  of 
"  Black's."  Mr.  Ringwood  waved  a  graceful  little  kid-gloved 
hand  to  Philip,  and  smiled  on  him.  Mr.  Woolcomb  glared  at 
our  friend  out  of  his  opal  eyeballs.  Philip  had  once  proposed 
to  kick  Woolcomb  into  the  sea.  He  somehow  felt  as  if  he 
would  like  to  treat  Ringwood  to  the  same  bath.  Meanwhile, 
Mr.  Ringwood  labored  under  the  notion  that  he  and  his  new- 
found acquaintance  were  on  the  very  best  possible  terms. 

At  one  time  poor  little  Woolcomb  loved  to  be  seen  with 
Philip  Ringwood.  He  thought  he  acquired  distinction  from 
the  companionship  of  that  man  of  fashion,  and  would  hang  on 
Ringwood  as  they  walked  the  Pall  Mall  pavement. 

"  Do  you  know  that  great  hulking,  overbearing  brute  ?  " 
says  Woolcomb  to  his  companion  on  the  steps  of  "  Black's." 
Perhaps  somebody  overheard  them  from  the  bow-window.  (I 
tell  you  everything  is  overheard  in  London,  and  a  great  deal 
more  too.) 

"  Brute,  is  he?"  says  Ringwood;  "seems  a  rough,  over- 
bearing sort  of  chap." 

"  Blackguard  doctor's  son.  Bankrupt.  Pathcr  ran  away," 
says  the  dusky  man  with  the  opal  eyeballs. 

"  I  have  heard  he  was  a  rogue — the  doctor  ;  but  I  like  him. 
Remember  he  gave  me  three  sovereigns  when  I  was  at  school. 
Always  like  a  fellow  who  tips  you  when  you  are  at  school."  And 
here  Ringwood  beckoned  his  broujrham  which  was  in  waitine:. 


ON-  HIS  WAY  THROUCn  TI/E  IVORLD.  603 

"Shall  we  see  you  at  dinner?  Where  are  you  going?" 
asked  Mr.  Woolcomb.     "  If  you  are  going  toward- " 

"Towards  Gray's  Inn,  to  see  my  lawyer;  have  an  appoint- 
ment there  ;  be  with  you  at  eight  !  "  And  Mr.  Ringwood  skip- 
I^ed  into  his  little  brougham  and  was  gone. 

Tom  Eaves  told  Philip.  Tom  Eaves  belongs  to  "  Black's 
Club,"  to  "  Bays's,"  to  the  "  Megatherium,"  I  don't  know  to  how 
many  clubs  in  St.  James's  Street.  Tom  Eaves  knows  every- 
body's business,  and  all  the  scandal  of  all  the  clubs  for  the  last 
forty  years.  He  knows  who  has  lost  money  and  to  whom  ; 
what  is  the  talk  of  the  opera-box  and  what  the  scandal  of  the 
coulisses ;  who  is  making  love  to  whose  daughter.  Whatever 
men  and  women  are  doing  in  May  Fair,  is  the  farrago  of  Tom's 
libel.  He  knows  so  many  stories,  that  of  course  he  makes  mis- 
takes in  names  sometimes,  and  says  that  Jones  is  on  the  verge 
of  ruin,  when  he  is  thriving  and  prosperous,  and  it  is  poor 
Brown  who  is  in  difliculties  ;  or  informs  us  that  Mrs.  Fanny  is 
flirting  with  Captain  Ogle  when  both  are  as  innocent  of  a  flirta- 
tion as  you  and  I  are.  Tom  certainly  is  mischievous,  and 
often  is  wrong  ;  but  when  he  speaks  of  our  neighbors  he  is 
amusing. 

"  It  is  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  Ringwood  and  Othello  to- 
gether," says  Tom  to  Philip.  "  How  proud  the  black  man  is  to 
be  seen  with  him  !  Heard  him  abuse  you  to  Ringwood.  Ring- 
wood  stuck  up  for  you  and  for  your  poor  governor — spoke  up 
like  a  man — like  a  man  who  sticks  up  for  a  fellow  who  is  down. 
How  the  black  man  brags  about  having  Ringwood  to  dinner ! 
Always  having  him  to  dinner.  You  should  have  seen  Ringwood 
shake  him  ofif !  Said  he  was  going  to  Gray's  Inn.  Heard  him 
say  Gray's  Inn  Lane  to  his  man.     Don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

Now  I  dare  say  you  are  much  too  fashionable  to  know  that 
Milman  Street  is  a  little  cul  de  sac  of  a  street,  which  leads  into 
Guildford  Street,  which  leads  into  Gray's  Inn  Lane.  Philip 
went  his  way  homewards,  shaking  off  Tom  Eaves,  who  for  his 
part,  trotted  off  to  his  other  clubs,  telling  people  how  he  had 
just  been  talking  with  that  bankrupt  doctor's  son,  and  wonder- 
ing how  Philip  should  get  money  enough  to  pay  his  club  sub- 
scription. Philip  then  went  on  his  way,  striding  homewards  at 
his  usual  manly  pace. 

Whose  black  brougham  was  that  ? — the  black  brougham  with 
the  chestnut  horse  walking  up  and  down  Guildford  Street. 
Mr.  Ringwood's  crest  was  on  the  brougham.  When  Philip 
entered  his  drawing-room,  having  opened  the  door  with  his  own 
key,  there   sat  Mr.  Ringwood,  talking  to   Mrs.  Charlotte,  who 


604  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHI  UP 

was  taking  a  cup  of  lea  at  five  o'clock.  She  and  the  children 
liked  that  cup  of  tea.  Sometimes  it  served  Mrs.  Char  for  din- 
ner when  Philip  dined  from  home. 

"  If  I  had  known  you  were  coming  here,  you  might  have 
brought  me  home  and  saved  me  a  long  walk,"  said  Philip,  wip- 
ing a  burning  forehead. 

"  So  I  might — so  I  might  !  "  said  the  other.  "  I  never 
thought  of  it.  I  had  to  see  my  lawyer  in  Gray's  Inn ;  and  it 
was  then  I  thought  of  coming  on  to  see  you,  as  I  was  telling 
Mrs.  Firmin  ;  and  a  very  nice  quiet  place  you  live  in  !  " 

This  was  very  well.  But  for  the  first  and  only  time  of  his 
life,  Philip  was  jealous. 

"  Don't  drub  so  with  your  feet !  Don't  like  to  ride  when 
you  jog  so  on  the  floor,"  said  Philip's  eldest  darling,  who  had 
clambered  on  papa's  knee.  "Why  do  you  look  so  ?  Don't 
squeeze  my  arm,  papa  !  " 

Mamma  was  utterly  unaware  that  Philip  liad  any  cause  for 
agitation.  "  You  have  walked  all  the  way  from  Westminster, 
and  the  club,  and  you  are  quite  hot  and  tired !  "  she  said. 
"  Some  tea,  my  dear  ?  " 

Philip  nearly  choked  with  the  tea.  From  under  his  hair, 
which  fell  over  his  forehead,  he  looked  into  his  wife's  face.  It 
wore  such  a  sweet  look  of  innocence  and  wonder,  that,  as  he 
regarded  her,  the  spasm  of  jealousy  passed  off.  No :  there 
was  no  look  of  guilt  in  those  tender  eyes.  Philip  could  only 
read  in  them  the  wife's  tender  love  and  anxiety  for  himself. 

But  what  of  Mr.  Ringwood's  face  ?  When  the  first  little 
blush  and  hesitation  had  passed  away,  Mr.  Ringwood's  pale 
countenance  reassumed  that  calm  self-satisfied  smile,  which  it 
customarily  wore.  "The  coolness  of  the  man  maddened  me," 
said  Philip,  talking  about  the  little  occurrence  afterwards,  and  to 
his  usual  confidant. 

"  Gracious  powers,"  cries  the  other.  "  If  I  went  to  see 
Charlotte  and  the  children,  would  you  be  jealous  of  me,  you 
bearded  Turk  ?  Are  you  prepared  with  sack  and  bowstring 
for  every  man  who  visits  Mrs.  Firmin  .?  If  you  are  to  come 
out  in  this  character,  you  will  lead  yourself  and  your  wife  pretty 
lives.  Of  course  you  quarrelled  with  Lovelace  then  and  there, 
and  threatened  to  throw  him  out  of  window  then  and  there  ? 
Your  custom  is  to  strike  when  you  are  hot,  witness " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  "  cried  Philip,  interrupting  me.  "  I  have 
not  quarrelled  with  him  yet."  And  he  ground  his  teeth,  and 
gave  a  very  fierce  glare  with  his  eyes.  "  I  sat  him  out  quite 
civilly.     I  went  with   him  to  the  door ;  and  I  have   left  direc- 


MORE    FREE   THAN    WELCOME. 


ON  HIS  W/  r  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  605 

tions  that  he  is  never -vo  pass  it  again — that's  all.  But  I  have 
not  quarrelled  with  hi.Yi  in  the  least.  Two  men  never  behaved 
more  politely  than  wc  did.  We  bowed  and  grinned  at  each 
other  quite  amiably.  But  I  own,  when  he  held  out  his  hand, 
I  was  obliged  to  keep  mine  behind  my  back,  for  they  felt  very 

mischievous,  and  inclined  to Well,  never  mind.     Perhaps 

it  is,  as  you  say  :  and  he  meant  no  sort  of  harm." 

Where,  I  say  again,  do  women  learn  all  the  mischief  they 
know  ?  Why  should  my  wife  have  such  a  mistrust  and  horror 
of  this  gentleman  ?  She  took  Philip's  side  entirely.  She  said 
she  thought  he  was  quite  right  in  keeping  that  person  out  of 
his  house.  What  did  she  know  about  that  person  ?  Did  I  not 
know  myself?  He  was  a  libertine,  and  led  a  bad  life.  He  had 
led  young  men  astray,  and  taught  them  to  gamble,  and  helped 
them  to  ruin  themselves.  We  have  all  heard  stories  about  the 
late  Sir  Philip  Ringwood ;  that  last  scandal  in  which  he  was 
engaged,  three  years  ago,  and  which  brought  his  career  to  an 
end  at  Naples,  I  need  not,  of  course,  allude  to.  But  fourteen 
or  fifteen  years  ago,  about  which  time  this  jDresent  portion  of 
our  little  story  is  ens^cted,  what  did  she  know  about  Ringwood's 
misdoings  ? 

No  :  Philip  Firmin  did  not  quarrel  with  Philip  Ringwood 
on  this  occasion.  But  he  shut  his  door  on  Mr.  Ringwood.  He 
refused  all  invitations  to  Sir  John's  house,  which  of  course, 
came  less  frequently,  and  which  then  ceased  to  come  at  all. 
Rich  folks  do  not  like  to  be  so  treated  by  the  poor.  Had  Lady 
Ringwood  a  notion  of  the  reason  why  Philip  kept  away  from 
her  house  ?  I  think  it  is  more  than  possible.  Some  of  Philip's 
friends  knew  her  ;  and  she  seemed  only  pained,  not  surprised 
or  angry,  at  a  quarrel  which  somehow  did  take  place  between 
the  two  gentleman  not  very  long  after  that  visit  of  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  to  his  kinsman  in  Milman  Street. 

"  Your  friend  seems  very  hot-headed  and  violent-tempered," 
Lady  Ringwood  said,  speaking  of  that  very  quarrel.  "  I  am 
sorry  he  keeps  that  kind  of  company.  I  am  sure  it  must  be 
too  expensive  for  him." 

"  As  luck  would  have  it,  Philip's  old  school-friend,  Lord 
Egham,  met  us  a  very  fevv  days  after  the  meeting  and  parting 
of  Philip  and  his  cousin  in  Milman  Street,  and  invited  us  to  a 
bachelor's  dinner  on  the  river.  Our  wives  (without  whose 
sanction  no  good  man  would  surely  ever  look  a  whitebait  in  the 
face)  gave  us  permission  to  attend  this  entertainment,  and 
remained  at  home,  and  partook  of  a  tea-dinner  (blessings  on 
them !)  with  the  dear  children.      Men  grow  young  again  when 


6o6  THE  ADVEA'TURES  OF  PHILIP 

they  meet  at  these  parties.  We  talk  of  flogging,  proctors,  old 
cronies  ;  we  recite  old  school  and  college  jokes.  I  hope  that 
some  of  us  may  carry  on  these  pleasant  entertainments  until 
we  are  fourscore,  and  that  our  toothless  old  gums  will  mumble 
the  old  stories,  and  will  laugh  over  the  old  jokes  with  ever- 
renewed  gusto.  Does  the  kind  reader  remember  the  account 
of  such  a  dinner  at  the  commencement  of  this  history?  On  this 
afternoon,  Egham,  Maynard,  Burroughs  (several  of  the  men 
formerly  mentioned),  reassembled.  I  think  we  actually  like 
each  other  well  enough  to  be  pleased  to  hear  of  each  other's 
successes.  I  know  that  one  or  two  good  fellows,  upon  whom 
fortune  has  frowned,  have  found  other  good  fellows  in  that  com- 
pany to  help  and  aid  them  ;  and  that  all  are  better  for  that 
kindly  freemasonry. 

Before  the  dinner  was  served,  the  guests  met  on  the  green 
of  the  hotel,  and  examined  that  fair  landscape,  which  surely 
does  not  lose  its  charm  in  our  eyes  because  it  is  commonly  seen 
before  a  good  dinner.  The  crested  elms,  the  shining  river,  the 
emerald  meadows,  the  painted  parterres  of  flowers  around,  all 
wafting  an  agreeable  smell  of  friture,  of  flowers  and  flounders 
exquisitely  commingled.  Who  has  not  enjoyed  these  delights  ? 
May  some  of  us,  I  say,  live  to  drink  the  '58  claret  in  the  year 
igoo  !  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  survivors  of  our  society  will 
still  laugh  at  the  jokes  which  we  used  to  relish  when  the  pres- 
ent century  was  still  only  middle-aged.  Egham  was  going  to 
be  married.  Would  he  be  allowed  to  dine  next  year?  Frank 
Berry's  wife  would  not  let  him  come.  Do  you  remember  his 
tremendous  fight  with  Biggs  ?  Remember  ?  who  didn't  ?  Mars- 
ton  was  Berry's  bottle-holder ;  poor  Marston,  who  was  killed 
in  India.  And  Biggs  and  Berry  were  the  closest  friends  in  life 
ever  after.  Who  would  ever  have  thought  of  Brackley  be- 
coming serious,  and  being  made  an  archdeacon  ?  Do  you 
remember  his  fight  with  Ringwood  ?  What  an  infernal  bully 
he  was,  and  how  glad  we  all  were  when  Brackley  thrashed  him. 
^^'hat  different  fates  await  men  !  Who  would  ever  have  imagined 
Nosey  Brackley  a  curate  in  the  mining  districts,  and  ending  by 
wearing  a  rosette  in  his  hat  ?  Who  would  ever  have  thought  of 
Ringwood  becoming  such  a  prodigious  swell  and  leader  of 
fashion  ?  He  was  a  very  shy  fellow  ;  not  at  all  a  good-looking 
fellow  :  and  what  a  wild  fellow  he  had  become,  and  what  a  lady- 
killer!  Isn't  he  some  connection  of  yours,  Firmin  ?  Philip 
said  yes,  but  that  he  had  scarcely  met  Ringwood  at  all.  And 
one  man  after  another  told  anecdotes  of  Ringwood  ;  how  he 
had  young  men  to  play  in  his  house  ;  how  he  had  played  in  that 


O.Y  HTS;  WAY  'I'lfROrGIf  77/F.    WORLD. 


Go-j 


*'«rv  "  .Star  and  Garter  ;  "  and  how  he  always  won.  You  must 
piease  to  remember  that  our  story  dates  back  some  sixteen 
vears,  when  the  dice-box  still  rattled  occasionallv  and  the  kin;; 
was  turned. 

As  this  old  school  gossip  is  going  on,  Lord  Egham  arrives, 
and  with  him  this  very  Ringwood  about  whom  the  old  school- 
fellows had  just  been  talking.  He  came  down  in  Egham's 
phaeton.  Of  course,  the  greatest  man  of  the  party  always  waits 
for  Ringwood.  "  If  we  had  had  a  duke  at  Grey  Friars,"  says 
some  grumbler,  "  Ringwood  would  ha\e  made  the  duke  bring 
him  down." 

Philip's  friend,  when  he  beheld  the  nrri\'al  of  Mr.  Ring- 
wood,  seized  Firmin's  big  arm,  and  whispered — 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  No  fighting.  No  quarrels.  Let  by- 
gones be  by-gones.  Remember,  there  can  be  no  earthly  use  in 
a  scandal." 

"  Leave  me  alone,"  says  Philip,  "  and  don't  be  afraid." 

I  thought  Ringwood  seemed  to  start  back  for  a  moment, 
and  perhaps  fancied  that  lie  looked  a  little  pale,  but  he  advanced 
with  a  gracious  smile  towards  Philip,  and  remarked,  '•  It  is  a 
long  time  since  we  ha\e  seen  you  at  my  father's." 

Philip  grinned  and  smiled  too.  "It  tuns  a  long  time  since 
he  had  been  in  Hill  Street."  But  Philip's  smile  was  not  at  all 
pleasing  to  behold.  Indeed,  a  worse  performer  of  comedy  than 
our  friend  does  not  walk  the  stage  of  this  life. 

On  this  the  other  gayly  remarked  he  was  glad  Philip  had 
leave  to  join  the  bachelor's  party.  "  Meeting  of  old  school- 
fellows very  pleasant.  Hadn't  been  to  one  of  them  for  a  long 
time :  though  the  '  Friars '  was  an  abominable  hole  :  that  was 
the  truth.  Who  was  that  in  the  shovel-hat  ?  a  bishop  ?  what 
bishop  ? " 

It  was  P'.rackley,  the  Archdeacon,  who  turned  very  red  on 
seeing  Ringwood.  For  the  fact  is,  Brackley  was  talking  to 
Pennystone,  the  little  boy  about  whom  the  quarrel  and  fight 
had  taken  place  at  school,  when  Ringwood  had  proposed 
forcibly  to  take  Pennystone's  money  from  him.  "  I  think,  Mr. 
Ringwood,  that  Pennystone  is  big  enough  to  hold  his  own  now, 
don't  you  ?  "  said  the  Archdeacon  ;  and  with  this  the  Venerable 
man  turned  on  his  heel,  leaving  Ringwood  to  face  the  little 
Pennystone  of  former  years  ;  now  a  gigantic  country  squire, 
with  health  ringing  in  his  voice,  and  a  pair  of  great  arms  and 
fists  that  would  have  demolished  six  Ringwoods  in  the  field. 

The  sight  of  these  quondam  enemies  rather  disturbed  Mr. 
Ringwood's  tranquillity. 


6o8  ■  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHtLIF 

"  I  was  dreadfully  bullied  at  that  school,"  he  said,  in  hji 
appealing  manner,  to  Mr.  I'ennystone.  "  I  did  as  others  dia. 
It  was  a  horrible  place,  and  I  hate  the  name  of  it.  I  say, 
Ingham,  don't  you  think  that  Barnaby's  motion  last  night  was 
very  ill-timed,  and  that  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
answered  him  very  neatly  ?  " 

This  became  a  cant  phrase  amongst  some  of  us  wags  after- 
wards. Whenever  we  wished  to  change  a  conversation,  it  was^ 
"  I  say,  Egham,  don't  you  think  Barnaby's  motion  was  very  ill- 
timed  ;  and  that  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  answered 
him  very  neatly  ?  "  You  know  Mr.- Ringwood  would  scarcely 
have  thought  of  coming  amongst  such  common  people  as  his 
old  schoolfellows,  but  seeing  Lord  Egham's  phaeton  at 
"  Black's,"  he  condescended  to  drive  down  to  Richmond  with 
his  lordship,  and  I  hope  a  great  number  of  his  friends  in  St. 
James's  Street  saw  him  in  that  noble  company. 

Windham  was  the  chairman  of  the  evening — elected  to  that 
post  because  he  is  very  fond  of  making  speeches  to  which  he 
does  not  in  the  least  expect  you  to  listen.  All  men  of  sense  are 
l-iad  to  hand  over  this  ofifice  to  him  :  and  I  hope,  f  ^r  my  part, 
a  day  will  soon  arrive  (but  I  own,  mind  you,  that  I  do  not  carve 
well)  when  we  shall  have  the  speeches  done  by  a  skilled  waiter 
at  the  side  table,  as  we  now  have  the  carving.  Don't  you  find 
that  you  splash  the  gravy,  that  you  mangle  the  meat,  that  you 
can't  nick  the  joint  in  helping  the  company  to  a  dinner-speech  .-* 
I,  for  my  part,  own  that  I  am  in  a  state  of  tremor  and  absence 
of  mind  before  the  operation  ;  in  a  condition  of  imbecility  dur- 
ing the  business  ;  and  that  I  am  sure  of  a  headache  and  indi- 
gestion the  next  morning.  What  then  ?  Have  I  not  seen  one 
of  the  bravest  men  in  the  world,  at  a  City  dinner  last  year,  in  a 

state  of  equal  panic  ? 1  feel  that  I  am  wandering  from 

Philip's  adventures  to  his  biographer's,  and  confess  I  am  think- 
ing of  the  Ci\^\w?\  fiasco  I  myself  made  on  this  occasion  at  the 
Richmond  dinner. 

You  see,  the  order  of  the  day  at  these  meetings  is  to  joke 
at  everything — to  joke  at  the  chairman,  at  all  the  speakers,  at 
the  army  and  navy,  at  the  venerable  the  legislature,  at  the  bar 
and  bench,  and  so  forth.  If  we  toast  a  barrister,  we  show  how 
admirably  lie  would  have  figured  in  the  dock  :  it  a  sailor,  how 
lamentably  sea-sick  he  was  :  if  a  soldier,  how  nimbly  he  ran 
away.  For  example,  we  drank  the  Venerable  Archdeacon 
Brackley  and  the  army.  We  deplored  the  perverseness  which 
liad  led  him  to  adopt  a  black  coat  instead  of  a  red.  War  had 
evidently  been  his  vocation,  as  he  had  shown  by  the  frequent 


OiV  ins  IVAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  609 

battles  in  which  he  had  been  engaged  at  school.  For  what  was 
the  other  great  warrior  of  the  age  famous  ?  for  that  Roman 
feature  in  his  face,  which  distinguished,  which  gave  a  name  to, 
our  Brackley — a  name  by  wliich  we  fondly  clung  (cries  of 
"  Nosey,  Nosey  !  ")  Might  that  feature  ornament  ere  long  the 
face  of — of  one  of  the  chiefs  of  that  army  of  which  he   was  a 

distinguished  field-officer  !     Might Here  I  confess  I  fairly 

broke  down,  lost  the  thread  of  my  joke — at  which  Brackley 
seemed  to  look  rather  severe — and  finished  the  speech  with  a 
gobble  about  regard,  esteem,  everybody  respect  you,  and  good 
health,  old  boy — which  answered  quite  as  well  as  a  finished 
oration,  however  the  author  might  be  discontented  with  it. 

The  Archdeacon's  little  sermon  was  very  brief,  as  the  dis- 
courses of  sensible  divines  sometimes  will  be.  lie  was  glad 
to  meet  old  friends — to  make  friends  with  "old  foes  (loud  cries 
of  "  Bravo,  Nosey  !  ")  In  the  battle  of  life,  every  man  must 
meet  with  a  blow  or  two  ;  and  every  brave  one  would  take  his 
facer  with  good-humor.  Had  he  quarrelled  with  any  old  school- 
fellow in  old  times  t  He  wore  peace  not  only  on  his  coat,  but 
in  his  heart.  Peace  and  good-will  were  the  words  of  the  day 
in  the  army  to  whicli  he  belonged  ;  and  he  hoped  that  all 
officers  in  it  were  animated  by  one  esprit  dc  corps. 

A  silence  ensued,  during  which  men  looked  towards  Mr. 
Ringwood,  as  the  "  old  foe  "  towards  whom  the  Archdeacon 
had  held  out  the  hand  of  amity  :  but  Ringwood,  who  had 
listened  to  the  Archdeacon's  speech  with  an  expression  of  great 
disgust,  did  not  rise  from  his  chair — only  remarking  to  his 
neighbor  Egham,  "  Why  should  I  get  up  ?  Hang  him,  I  have 
nothing  to  say.  I  say,  Egham,  why  did  you  induce  me  to  come 
into  this  kind  of  thing  ?  " 

Fearing  that  a  collision  might  take  place  between  Philip  and 
his  kinsman,  I  had  drawn  Philip  away  from  the  place  in  the 
room  to  which  Lord  Egham  beckoned  him,  saying,  "  Never 
mind,  Philip,  about  sitting  by  the  lord,"  by  whose  side  I  knew 
perfectly  well  that  Mr.  Ringwood  would  find  a  place.  But  it 
was  our  lot  to  be  separated  from  his  lordship  by  merely  the 
table's  breadth,  and  some  intervening  vases  of  flowers  and 
fruits  through  which  we  could  see  and  hear  our  opposite 
neighbors.  When  Ringwood  spoke  "  of  this  kind  of  thing," 
Philip  glared  across  the  table,  and  started  as  if  he  was  going 
to  speak  ;  but  his  neighbor  pinched  him  on  the  knee,  and 
whispered  to  him,  "  Silence — no  scandal.  Remember  !  "  The 
other  fell  back,  swallowed  a  glass  of  wine,  and  made  me  far 
from  comfortable  by  performing  a  tattoo  on  my  chair. 

39 


G I  o  THE  AD  VENTURES  OF  PIIILIF 

The  speeches  went  on.  If  Ihcy  were  not  more  eloquent 
they  were  more  noisy  and  lively  than  before.  Then  the  aid  of 
song  was  called  in  to  enliven  the  banquet.  The  Archdeacon, 
who  had  looked  a  little  uneasy  for  the  last  half  hour,  rose  up  at 
the  call  for  a  song,  and  quitted  the  room.  "  Let  us  go  too, 
Philip,"  said  Philip's  neighbor.  "  You  don't  want  to  hear 
those  dreadful  old  college  songs  over  again  ? "  But  Philip 
sulkily  said,  "  You  go,  I  should  like  to  stay." 

Lord  Egham  was  seeing  the  last  of  his  bachelor  life.  He 
liked  those  last  evenings  to  be  merry  ;  he  lingered  over  them, 
and  did  not  wish  them  to  end  too  quickly.  His  neighbor  was 
long  since  tired  of  the  entertainment,  and  sick  of  our  compan}'. 
Mr.  Ringwood  had  lived  of  late  in  a  world  of  such  fashion  that 
ordinary  mortals  w.ere  despicable  to  him.  He  had  no  affection- 
ate remembrance  of  his  earlv  days,  or  of  anybody  belonging  to 
them.  Whilst  Philip  was  singing  his  song  of  "  Doctor  Luther," 
I  was  glad  that  he  could  not  see  the  face  of  surprise  and  dis- 
gust which  his  kinsman  bore.  Other  vocal  performances  fol- 
lowed, including  a  song  by  Lord  Egham,  which  I  am  bound  to 
say  was  hideously  out  of  tune;  but  was  received  by  his  near 
neighbor  complacently  enough. 

The  noise  now  began  to  increase,  the  choruses  were  fuller, 
the  speeches  were  louder  and  more  incoherent.  I  don't  think 
the  company  heard  a  speech  by  little  Mr,  Vanjohn,  whose 
health  was  drank  as  representative  of  the  British  Turf,  and  who 
said  that  he  had  never  known  anything  about  the  turf  or  about 
play,  until  their  old  schoolfellow,  his  dear  friend — his  swell 
friend,  if  he  might  be  permitted  the  expression — Mr.  Ringwood, 
taught  him  the  use  of  cards  ;  and  once,  in  his  own  house,  in 
May  Fair,  and  once  in  this  very  house,  the  "  Star  and  Garter," 
showed  him  how  to  play  the  noble  game  of  Blind  Hookey, 
"TJie  men  are  drunk.  Let  us  go  away,  Egham,  I  didn't 
come  for  this  kind  of  thing  !  "  cries  Ringwood,  furious,  by  Lord 
Egham's  side. 

This  was  the  expression  which  Mr.  Ringwood  had  used  a 
short  time  before,  when  Philip  was  about  to  interrupt  him.  He 
had  lifted  his  gun  to  fire  then,  but  his  hand  had  been  held  back. 
The  bird  passed  him  once  more,  and  he  could  not  help  taking 
aim.  "  This  kind  of  thing  is  very  dull,  isn't  it,  Ringwood  1  " 
he  called  across  the  table,  pulling  away  a  flower,  and  glaring  at 
the  other  through  the  little  open  space. 

"  Dull,  old  boy  ?  I  call  it  doosed  good  fun,"  cries  Lord 
Egham,  in  the  height  of  good-humor, 

"  Dull  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  my  lord's  neighbor. 


OiV  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  Cii 

*'  I  mean  you  would  prefer  having  a  couple  of  packs  of 
cards,  and  a  little  room,  where  you  could  win  three  or  four 
hundred  from  a  young  fellow  ?  It's  more  profitable  and  more 
quiet  than  'this  kind  of  thing.'  " 

"  I  say,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  !  "  cries  the  other, 

"  What !  You  have  forgotten  already  ?  Has  not  Vanjohn 
just  told  you,  how  you  and  Mr.  Deuceace  brought  him  down 
here,  and  won  his  money  from  him  ;  and  then  how  you  gave 
him  his  revenge  at  your  own  house  in " 

"  Did  I  come  here  to  be  insulted  by  that  fellow  ?  "  cries  Mr, 
Ringwood,  appealing  to  his  neighbor, 

"  If  that  is  an  insult,  you  may  put  it  in  your  pipe  and  smoke 
it,  Mr.  Ringwood  !  "  cries  Philip, 

"  Come  away,  come  away,  Egham !  Don't  keep  me  here 
listening  to  this  bla — " 

"  If  you  say  another  word,"  say,  Philip,  "  I'll  send  this  de- 
canter at  your  head  !  " 

"  Come,  come — nonsense  !  No  quarrelling  !  Make  it  up  ! 
Everybody  has  had  too  much !  Get  the  bill  and  order  the 
omnibus  round  !  "  A  crowd  was  on  one  side  of  the  table,  and 
the  other.  One  of  the  cousins  had  not  the  least  wish  that  the 
quarrel  should  proceed  any  further. 

When,  being  in  a  quarrel,  Philip  Firmin  assumes  the  calm 
and  stately  manner,  he  is  perhaps  in  his  most  dangerous  state. 
Lord  Egham's  phaeton  (in  which  Mr.  Ringwood  showed  a 
great  unwillingness  to  take  a  seat  by  the  driver)  was  at  the 
hotel  gate,  an  omnibus  and  a  private  carriage  or  two  were  in 
readiness  to  take  home  the  other  guests  of  the  feast.  Egham 
went  into  the  hotel  to  light  a  final  cigar,  and  now  Philip  spring- 
ing forward,  caught  by  the  arm  the  gentleman  sitting  on  the 
front  seat  of  the  phaeton. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  said.     "  You  used  a  word  just  now " 

"  What  word  .''  I  don't  know  anything  about  words  !  "  cries 
the  other,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"You  said  '  insulted,' "  murmured  Philip,  in  the  gentJest 
tone. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  said,"  said  Ringwood,  peevishly. 

"  I  said  in  reply  to  the  words  which  you  forget,  '  that  I 
would  knock  you  down,'  or  words  to  that  effect.  If  you  feel  in 
the  least  aggrieved,  you  know  where  my  chambers  are — with 
Mr.  Vanjohn,  whom  you  and  your  mistress  inveigled  to  play 
cards  when  he  was  a  boy.  You  are  not  fit  to  come  into  an 
honest  man's  house.  It  was  only  because  I  wished  to  spare  a 
lady's  feeling  that   I  refrained  from   turning  you  out  of  mine. 


6 1 2  THE  A D  J  ^ENTURES  OE  PHILIP 

Good-night,  Egham  ! "  and  with  great  majesty  Mr.  Philip  returned 
to  his  companion  and  the  Hansom  cab  which  was  in  waiting  to 
convey  these  two  gentlemen  to  London. 

I  was  quite  correct  in  my  surmise  that  Philip's  antagonist 
would  take  no  further  notice  of  the  quarrel  to  Philip  personally. 
Indeed,  he  affected  to  treat  it  as  a  drunken  brawl,  regarding 
which  no  man  of  sense  would  allow  himself  to  be  seriously  dis- 
turbed. A  quarrel  between  two  men  of  the  same  family : — be- 
tween Philip  and  his  own  relative  who  had  only  wished  him 
well  ? — It  was  absurd  and  impossible.  What  Mr.  Ringwood 
deplored  was  the  obstinate  ill  temper  and  known  violence  of 
Philip,  which  were  for  ever  leading  him  into  these  brawls,  and 
estranging  his  family  froni  him.  A  men  seized  by  the  coat,  in- 
sulted, threatened  with  a  decanter  !  A  man  of  station  so  treated 
by  a  person  whose  own  position  was  most  questionable,  whose 
father  was  a  fugitive,  and  who  himself  was  struggling  for  pre- 
carious subsistence  !  The  arrogance  was  too  great.  With  the 
best  wishes  for  the  unhappy  young  man,  and  his  amiable  (but 
empty-headed)  little  wife,  it  was  impossible  to  take  further 
notice  of  them.  Let  the  visits  cease.  Let  the  carriage  no 
more  drive  from  Berkeley  Square  to  Milman  Street.  Let  there 
be  no  presents  of  game,  poultry,  legs  of  mutton,  old  clothes, 
and  what  not.  Henceforth,  therefore,  the  Ringwood  carriage 
was  unknown  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Foundling,  and  the 
Ringwood  footmen  no  more  scented  with  their  powdered  heads 
the  Firmins'  little  hall  ceiling.  Sir  John  said  to  the  end  that 
he  was  about  to  procure  a  comfortable  place  for  Philip,  when 
his  deplorable  violence  obliged  Sir  John  to  break  off  all  rela- 
tions with  the  most  misguided  young  man. 

Nor  was  the  end  of  the  mischief  here.  We  have  all  read 
how  the  gods  never  appear  alone — the  gods  bringing  good  or 
evil  fortune.  When  two  or  three  little  pieces  of  good  luck  had 
befallen  our  poor  friend,  my  wife  triumphantly  cried  out,  "  I 
told  you  so  !  Did  I  not  always  say  that  heaven  would  befriend 
that  dear,  innocent  wife  and  children  ;  that  brave,  generous, 
imprudent  father  ?  "  And  now  w^hen  the  evil  days  came,  this 
monstrous  logician  insisted  that  poverty,  sickness,  dreadful 
doubt  and  terror,  hunger  and  want  almost,  were  all  equally  in- 
tended for  Philip's  advantage,  and  would  work  for  good  in  the 
end.  So  that  rain  was  good,  and  sunshine  was  good  ;  so  that 
sickness  was  good,  and  health  was  good  ;  that  Philip  ill  was  to 
be  as  happy  as  Philip  well,  and  as  thankful  for  a  sick  house  and 
an  empty  pocket  as  for  a  warm  fireside  and  a  comfortable 
larder.     Mind,  I  ask  no  Christian  philosopher  to  revile  at  his 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE    WORLD.  613 

ill  fortunes,  or  to  despair.  I  will  accept  a  toothache  (or  any 
evil  of  life),  and  bear  it  without  too  much  grumbling.  But  1 
cannot  say  that  to  have  a  tooth  pulled  out  is  a  blessing,  or 
fondle  the  hand  which  wrenches  at  my  jaw. 

"  They  can  live  without  their  fine  relations,  and  their  donations 
of  mutton  and  turnips,"  cries  my  wife  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 
"The  way  in  which  those  people  patronized  Philip  and  dear 
Charlotte  was  perfectly  intolerable.  Lady  Ringwood  knows  how 
dreadful  the  conduct  of  that  Mr.  Ringwood  is,  and — and  I  have 
no  patience  with  her  !  "  How,  I  repeat,  do  women  know  about 
men  ?  How  do  they  telegraph  to  each  other  their  notices  of 
alarm  and  mistrust  ?  and  fly  as  birds  rise  up  with  a  rush  and  a 
skurry  when  danger  appears  to  be  near  ?  All  this  was  very 
well.  But  Mr.  Tregarvan  heard  some  account  of  the  dispute 
between  Philip  and  Mr.  Ringwood,  and  applied  to  Sir  John  for 
further  particulars  ;  and  Sir  John — liberal  man  as  he  was  and 
ever  had  been,  and  priding  himself  little,  heaven  knew,  on  the 
privilege  of  rank,  which  was  merely  adventitious — was  con- 
strained to  confess  that  this  young  man's  conduct  showed  a 
great  deal  too  much  laissez  aller.  He  had  constantly,  at  Sir 
John's  own  house,  manifested  an  independence  which  had 
bordered  on  rudeness  \  he  was  always  notorious  for  his  quarrel- 
some disposition,  and  lately  had  so  disgraced  himself  in  a 
scene  with  Sir  John's  eldest  son,  Mr.  Ringwood,  had  exhibited 
such  brutality,  ingratitude,  and — and  inebriation,  that  Sir  John 
was  free  to  confess  he  had  forbidden  the  gentleman  his  door. 

"An  insubordinate,  ill-conditioned  fellow,  certainly  !  "  thinks 
Tregarvan.  (And  I  do  not  say,  though  Philip  is  my  friend, 
that  Tregarvan  and  Sir  John  were  altogether  wrong  regarding 
\\\€\x protege?)  Twice  Tregarvan  had  invited  him  to  breakfast, 
and  Philip  had  not  appeared.  More  than  once  he  had  con- 
tradicted Tregarvan  about  the  Review.  He  had  said  that  the 
Revieti)  was  not  getting  on,  and  if  you  asked  Philip  his  candid 
opinion,  it  would  not  get  on.  Six  numbers  had  appeared,  and 
it  did  not  meet  with  that  attention  which  the  public  ought  to 
pay  to  it.  The  public  was  careless  as  to  the  designs  of  that 
Great  Power  which  it  was  Tregarvan's  aim  to  defy  and  con- 
found. He  took  counsel  with  himself.  He  walked  over  to  the 
publisher's,  and  inspected  the  books  ;  and  the  result  of  that 
inspection  was  so  disagreeable,  that  he  went  home  straightway 
and  wrote  a  letter  to  Philip  Firmin,  Esq.,  New  Mil  man  Street, 
Guildford  Street,  which  that  poor  fellow  brought  to  his  usual 
advisers. 

That  letter  contained   a  check  for  a  quarter's   salary  and 


6 1 4  THE  A  D  VENTURES  OF  PHI  LIP 

bade  adieu  to  Mr.  Firniin.  The  writer  would  not  recapitulate 
the  causes  of  dissatisfaction  which  he  felt  respecting  the  con- 
duct of  the  Review.  He  was  much  disappointed  in  its  pro- 
gress, and  dissatisfied  with  its  general  management.  He 
thought  an  opportunity  was  lost  which  never  could  be  recovered 
for  exposing  the  designs  of  a  Power  which  menaced  the  liberty 
and  tranquillity  of  Europe.  Had  it  been  directed  with  proper 
energy  that  Review  might  have  been  an  aegis  to  that  threatened 
liberty,  a  lamp  to  lighten  the  darkness  of  that  menaced  free- 
dom. It  might  have  pointed  the  way  to  the  cultivation  honariun 
literarum  ;  it  might  have  fostered  rising  talent,  it  might  have 
chastised  the  arrogance  of  so-called  critics;  it  might  have 
served  the  cause  of  truth.  Tregarvan's  hopes  were  disap- 
pointed :  he  would  not  say  by  whose  remissness  or  fault.  He 
had  done  his  utmost  in  the  good  work,  and,  finally,  would 
thank  Mr.  Firmin  to  print  off  the  articles  already  purchased 
and  paid  for,  and  to  prepare  a  brief  notice  for  the  next  num- 
ber, announcing  the  discontinuance  of  the  Revieiv ;  and  Tre- 
garvan  showed  my  wife  a  cold  shoulder  for  a  considerable  time 
afterwards,  nor  were  we  asked  to  his  tea-parties,  I  forget  for 
how  many  seasons. 

This  to  us  was  no  great  loss  or  subject  of  annoyance  :  but 
to  poor  Philip  ?  It  was  a  matter  of  life  and  almost  death  to 
him.  He  never  could  save  much  out  of  his  little  pittance. 
Here  were  fifty  pounds  in  his  hand,  it  is  true  ;  but  bills,  taxes, 
rent,  the  hundred  little  obligations  of  a  house,  were  due  and 
pressing  upon  him  ;  and  in  tli«  midst  of  his  anxiety,  our  dear 
little  Mrs.  Philip  was  about  to  present  him  with  a  third  orna- 
ment to  his  nursery.  Poor  little  Tertius  arrived  duly  enough ; 
and,  such  hypocrites  were  we,  that  the  poor  mother  was  abso- 
lutely thinking  of  calling  the  child  Tregarvan  Firmin,  as  a  com- 
pliment to  ]\Ir.  Tregarvan,  who  had  been  so  kind  to  them,  and 
Tregarvan  Firmin  would  be  such  a  pretty  name,  she  thought. 
We  imagined  the  Little  Sister  knew  nothing  about  Philip's 
anxieties.  Of  course,  she  attended  Mrs.  Philip  through  her 
troubles,  and  w'e  vow  that  we  never  said  a  word  to  her  regard- 
ing Philip's  own.  But  Mrs.  Brandon  went  in  to  Philip  one 
day,  as  he  was  sitting  very  gra\e  and  sad  with  his  two  first-born 
children,  and  she  took  both  his  hands,  and  said,  "  You  know, 
dear,  I  have  saved  ever  so  much  :  and  I  always  intended  it  for 
— you  know  who."  And  here  she  loosened  one  hand  from 
him,  and  felt  in  her  pocket  for  a  purse,  and  put  it  into  Philip's 
hand,  and  w^ept  on  his  shoulder.  And  Philip  kissed  her,  and 
thanked  God  for  sending  him  such  a  dear  friend,  and  gave  her 


ON  HIS  WA  V  THROUGH  THE  WORLD. 


'^S 


back  her  purse,  though  indeed  he  had  but  five  pounds  left  in 
his  own  when  this  benefactress  came  to  him. 

Yes  :  but  there  were  debts  owing  to  him.  There  was  his 
wife's  little  portion  of  fifty  pounds  a  year,  which  had  never 
been  paid  since  the  second  quarter  after  their  marriage,  which 
had  happened  now  more  than  three  years  ago.  As  Philip  had 
scarce  a  guinea  in  the  world,  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Baynes,  his 
wife's  mother,  to  explain  his  extreme  want,  and  to  remind  her 
that  this  money  was  due.  Mrs.  General  Baynes  was  living  at 
Jersey  at  this  time  in  a  choice  society  of  half-pay  ladies,  clergy- 
men, captains,  and  the  like,  among  whom  I  have  no  doubt  she 
moved  as  a  great  lady.  She  wore  a  large  medallion  of  the 
deceased  General  on  her  neck.  She  wept  dry  tears  over  that 
interesting  cameo  at  frequent  tea-parties.  She  never  could  for- 
give Philip  for  taking  away  her  child  from  her,  and  if  any  one 
would  take  away  others  of  her  girls,  she  would  be  equally 
unforgiving.  Endowed  with  that  wonderful  logic  with  which 
women  are  blessed,  I  believe  she  never  admitted,  or  has  been 
able  to  admit  to  her  own  mind,  that  she  did  Philip  or  her 
daughter  a  wTong.  In  the  tea-parties  of  her  acquaintance  she 
groaned  over  the  extravagance  of  her  son-in-law  and  his  brutal 
treatment  of  her  blessed  child.  Many  good  people  agreed 
with  her  and  shook  their  respectable  noddles  when  the  name  of 
that  prodigal  Philip  was  mentioned  over  her  muffins  and  Bohea. 
He  was  prayed  for  ;  his  dear  widowed  mother-in-law  was^Ditied, 
and  blessed  with  all  the  comfort  reverend  gentlemen  could 
supply  on  the  spot.  "  Upon  my  honor,  Firmin,  Emily  and  I 
were  made  to  believe  that  you  were  a  monster,  sir,"  the  stout 
Major  MacWhirter  once  said  ;  "  and  now  I  have  heard  your 
story,  by  Jove,  I  think  it  is  you,  and  not  Eliza  Baynes,  who 
were  wronged.  She  has  a  deuce  of  a  tongue,  Eliza  has  :  and  a 
temper — poor  Charles  knew  what  that  was  !  "  In  fine,  when 
Philip,  reduced  to  his  last  guinea,  asked  Charlotte's  mother  to 
pay  her  debt  to  her  sick  daughter,  Mrs.  General  B.  sent  Philip 
a  ten-pound  note,  open,  by  Captain  Swang,  of  the  Indian  army, 
who  happened  to  be  coming  to  England.  And  that,  Philip 
says,  of  all  the  hard  knocks  of  fate,  has  been  the  very  hardest 
which  he  has  had  to  endure. 

But  the  poor  little  wife  knew  nothing  of  this  cruelty,  nor  in- 
deed of  the  very  poverty  which  was  hemming  round  her  cur- 
tain; and  in  the  midst  of  his  griefs,  Philip  Firmin  was  im- 
mensely consoled  by  the  tender  fidelity  of  the  friends  whom 
God  had  sent  him.  Their  griefs  were  drawing  to  an  end  now. 
Kind  readers  all,  may  your  sorrows,  may  mine,  leave  us  with 
hearts  not  embittered,  and  humbly  acquiescent  to  the  Great  Will  \ 


6l6  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

IN   WHICH   WE   REACH   THE   LAST  STAGE  BUT  ONE  OF    THIS 
JOURNEY. 

Although  poverty  was  knocking  at  Pliilip's  humble  door, 
fittle  Charlotte  in  all  her  trouble  never  knew  how  menacing  the 
grim  visitor  had  been.  She  did  not  quite  understand  that  her 
husband  in  his  last  necessity  sent  to  her  mother  for  his  due, 
and  that  the  mother  turned  away  and  refused  him.  "Ah," 
thought  poor  Philip,  groaning  in  his  despair,  "  I  wonder  whether 
the  thieves  who  attacked  the  man  in  the  parable  were  robbers 
of  his  own  family,  who  knew  that  he  carried  money  with  him  to 
Jerusalem,  and  waylaid  him  on  the  journey?"  But  again  and 
again  he  has  thanked  God,  with  grateful  heart,  for  the  Samari- 
tans whom  he  has  met  on  life's  road,  and  if  he  has  not  forgiven, 
it  must  be  owned  he  has  never  done  any  wrong  to  those  who 
robbed  him. 

Charlotte  did  not  know  that  her  husband  was  at  his  last 
guinea,  and  a  prey  to  dreadful  anxiety  for  her  dear  sake,  for 
after  the  birth  of  her  child  a  fever  came  upon  her  ;  in  the  delir- 
ium consequent  upon  which  the  poor  thing  was  ignorant  of  all 
that  happened  round  her.  A  fortnight  with  a  wife  in  extremity, 
with  crying  infants,  with  hunger  menacing  at  the  door,  passed 
for  Philip  somehow.  The  young  man  became  an  old  man  in 
this.  time.  Indeed,  his  fair  hair  was  streaked  with  white  at  the 
temples  afterwards.  But  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  he  had 
not  friends  during  his  afifliction,  and  he  always  can  gratefully 
count  up  the  names  of  many  persons  to  whom  he  might  have 
applied  had  he  been  in  need.  He  did  not  look  or  ask  for  these 
succors  from  his  relatives.  Aunt  and  uncle  Twysden  shrieked 
and  cried  out  at  his  extravagance,  imprudence,  and  folly.  Sir 
John  Ringwood  said  he  must  really  wash  his  hands  of  a  young 
man  who  menaced  the  life  of  his  own  son.  Grenville  Wool- 
comb,  with  many  oaths,  in  which  brother-in-law  Ringwood 
joined  chorus,  cursed  Philip,  and  said  he  didn't  care,  and  the 
beggar  ought  to  be  hung,  and  his  father  ought  to  be  hung.  But 
I  think  I  know  half-a-dozen  good  men  and  true  who  told  a  dif- 
ferent tale,  and  who  were  ready  with  their  sympathy  and  suc- 
cor. Did  not  Mrs.  Flanagan,  the  Irish  laundress,  in  a  voice 
broken  by  sobs  and  gin.  offer  to  go  and  chare  at  Philip's  house 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE   WORLD.  617 

for  nothing,  and  nurse  tlie  clear  children  ?  Did  not  Goodenough 
say,  "  If  you  are  in  need,  my  dear  fellow,  of  course  you  know 
where  to  come  j "  and  did  he  not  actually  give  two  prescrip- 
tions, one  for  poor  Charlotte,  and  one  for  fifty  pounds  to  be 
taken  immediately,  which  he  handed  to  the  nurse  by  mistake  ? 
You  may  be  sure  she  did  not  appropriate  the  money,  for  of 
course  you  know  that  the  nurse  was  Mrs.  Brandon.  Charlotte 
has  one  remorse  in  her  life.  She  owns  she  was  jealous  of  the 
Little  Sister.  And  now  when  that  gentle  life  is  over,  when 
Philip's  poverty  trials  are  ended,  when  the  children  go  some 
times  and  look  wistfully  at  the  grave  of  their  dear  Caroline, 
friend  Charlotte  leans  her  head  against  her  husband's  shoulder, 
and  owns  humbly  how  good,  how  bra\'e,  how  generous  a  friend 
heaven  sent  them  in  that  humble  defender. 

Have  you  ever  felt  the  pinch  of  poverty  ?  In  many  cases 
it  is  like  the  dentist's  chair,  more  dreadful  in  the  contemplation 
than  in  the  actual  suffering.  Philip  says  he  was  never  fairly 
beaten,  but  on  that  day  when,  in  reply  to  his  solicitation  to  have 
his  due,  Mrs.  Baynes's  friend.  Captain  Swang,  brought  him  the 
open  ten-pound  note.  It  was  not  much  of  a  blow ;  the  hand 
which  dealt  it  made  the  hurt  so  keen.  "  I  remember,"  says  he, 
"  bursting  out  crj'ing  at  school,  because  a  big  boy  hit  me  a 
slight  tap,  and  other  boys  said,  '  Oh,  you  coward.'  It  was  that 
I  knew  the  boy  at  home,  and  my  parents  had  been  kind  to  him. 
It  seemed  to  me  a  wrong  that  Bumps  should  strike  me,"  said 
Philip  ;  and  he  looked,  while  telling  the  story,  as  if  he  could  cry 
about  this  injury  now.  I  hope  he  has  revenged  himself  by  pre- 
senting coals  of  fire  to  his  wife's  relations.  But  this  day,  when 
he  is  enjoying  good  health,  and  competence,  it  is  not  safe  to 
mention  mothers-in-law  in  his  presence.  He  fumes,  shouts  and 
rages  against  them,  as  if  all  were  like  his ;  and  his,  I  have  been 
told,  is  a  lady  perfectly  well  satisfied  with  herself  and  her  con- 
duct in  this  world  ;  and  as  for  the  next but  our  story  does 

not  dare  to  point  so  far.  It  only  interests  itself  about  a  little 
clique  of  people  here  below — their  griefs,  their  trials,  their 
weaknesses,  their  kindly  hearts. 

People  there  are  in  our  history  who  do  not  seem  to  me  to 
have  kindly  hearts  at  all ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  if  a  biography 
could  be  written  from  their  point  of  view,  some  other  novelist 
might  show  how  Philip  and  his  biographer  were  a  pair  of  selfish 
worldlings  unworthy  of  credit :  how  uncle  and  aunt  Twysden 
were  most  exemplary  people,  and  so  forth.  Have  I  not  told 
you  how  many  people  at  New  York  shook  their  heads  when 
Philip's  name  was  mentioned,  and  intimated  a  strong  opinion 


6i8  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

that  he  used  his  father  very  ill  ?  When  he  fell  wounded  and 
bleeding,  patron  Tregarvan  dropped  him  off  his  horse,  and  cousin 
Ringwood  did  not  look  behind  to  see  how  he  fared.  But  these, 
again,  may  have  had  their  opinion   regarding  our  friend,  who 

may  have  been  misrepresented  to  them 1  protest  as  I  look 

back  at  the  past  portions  of  this  history,  I  begin  to  have  qualms, 
and  ask  myself  whether  the  folks  of  whom  we  have  been  prat- 
ling  have  had  justice  done  to  them  ;  whether  Agnes  Twysden 
is  not  a  suffering  martyr  justly  offended  by  Philip's  turbulent 
behavior,  and  whether  Philip  deserves  any  particular  attention 
or  kindness  at  all.  He  is  not  transcendently  clever  ;  he  is  not 
gloriously  beautiful.  He  is  not  about  to  illuminate  the  dark- 
ness in  which  the  people  grovel,  with  the  flashing  emanations 
of  his  truth.  He  sometimes  owes  money,  which  he  cannot  pay. 
He  slips,  stumbles,  blunders,  brags.  Ah  !  he  sins  and  repents 
— pray  heaven — of  faults,  of  vanities,  of  pride,  of  a  thousand 
shortcomings!  This  I  say — Ego — as  my  friend's  biographer. 
Perhaps  I  do  not  understand  the  other  characters  round  about 
him  so  well,  and  have  overlooked  a  number  of  their  merits,  and 
caricatured  and  exaggerated  their  little  defects. 

Among  the  Samaritans  who  came  to  Philip's  help  in  these 
his  straits,  he  loves  to  remember  the  name  of  J.  J-,  the  painter, 
whom  he  found  sitting  with  the  children  one  day  making 
drawings  for  them,  which  the  good  painter  never  tired  to 
sketch. 

Now  if  those  children  would  but  have  kept  Ridley's 
sketches,  and  waited  for  a  good  season  at  Christie's  I  have  no 
doubt  they  might  have  got  scores  of  pounds  for  the  drawings  ; 
but  then,  you  see,  they  chose  to  improve  the  drawings  with  their 
own  hands.  They  painted  the  soldiers  yellow,  the  horses  blue, 
and  so  forth.  On  the  horses  they  put  soldiers  of  their  own  con- 
struction. Ridley's  landscapes  were  enriched  with  representa- 
tions of  "omnibuses,"  which  the  children  saw  and  admired  in 
the  neighboring  New  Road.  I  dare  say,  as  the  fever  left  her, 
and  as  she  came  to  see  things  as  they  were,  Charlotte's  eyes 
dwelt  fondly  on  the  pictures  of  the  omnibuses  inserted  in  Mr. 
Ridley's  sketches,  and  she  put  some  aside  and  showed  them 
to  her  friends,  and  said,  "  Doesn't  our  darling  show  extraordi- 
nary talent  for  drawing  ?  Mr.  Ridley  says  he  does.  He  did  a 
great  part  of  this  etching." 

Ikit,  besides  the  drawings,  what  do  you  think  Master  Rid- 
ley offered  to  draw  for  his  friends  ?  Besides  the  prescriptions 
of  medicine,  what  drafts  did  Dr.  Goodenough  prescribe  ?  When 
nurse  Brandon  came  to  Mrs.  Philip  in  her  anxious   time,  we 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  619 

know  what  sort  of  pa3n'nent  she  proposed  for  her  services. 
Who  says  the  world  is  all  cold  ?  There  is  the  sun  and  the 
shadows.  And  the  heaven  which  ordains  poverty  and  sickness 
sends  pity,  and  love,  and  succor. 

During  Charlotte's  fever  and  illness,  the  Little  Sister  had 
left  her  but  for  one  day,  when  her  patient  was  quiet,  and  pro- 
nounced to  be  mending.  It  appears  that  Mrs.  Charlotte  was 
very  ill  indeed  on  this  occasion ;  so  ill  that  Dr.  Goodenough 
thought  she  she  might  have  given  us  all  the  slip  :  so  ill  that, 
but  for  Brandon,  she  would,  in  all  probability,  have  escaped 
out  of  this  troublous  world,  and  left  Philip  and  her  orphaned 
little  ones.  Charlotte  mended  then :  could  take  food,  and 
liked  it,  and  was  specially  pleased  with  some  chickens  which 
her  nurse  informed  her  were  "  from  the  country."  "  From 
Sir  John  Ringwood,  no  doubt  ?"  said  Mrs.  Firmin,  remember- 
ing the  presents  sent  from  Berkeley  Square,  and  the  mutton 
and  the  turnips. 

"  Well,  eat  and  be  thankful ! "  says  the  Little  Sister,  who 
was  as  gay  as  a  little  sister  could  be,  and  who  had  prepared  a 
beautiful  bread  sauce  for  the  fowl ;  and  who  had  tossed  the 
baby,  and  who  showed  it  to  its  admiring  brother  and  sister 
ever  so  many  times  ;  and  who  saw  that  Mr.  Philip  had  his  din- 
ner comfortable  ;  and  who  never  took  so  much  as  a  drop  of 
porter — at  home  a  little  glass  sometimes  was  comfortable,  but 
on  duty,  never,  never!  No,  not  if  Dr.  Goodenough  ordered  it ! 
she  vowed.  And  the  doctor  wished  he  could  say  as  much,  or 
believe  as  much,  of  all  his  nurses. 

Milman  Street  is  such  a  quiet  little  street  that  our  friends 
had  not  carpeted  it  in  the  usual  way  ;  and  three  days  after  her 
temporary  absence,  as  nurse  Brandon  sits  by  her  patient's  bed, 
powdering  the  back  of  a  small  pink  infant  that  makes  believe 
to  swim  upon  her  apron,  a  rattle  of  wheels  is  heard  in  the  quiet 
street — of  four  wheels,  of  one  horse,  of  a  jingling  carriage, 
which  stops  before  Philip's  door.  "  It's  the  trap,"  says  nurse 
Brandon,  delighted.  "  It  must  be  those  kind  Ringwoods," 
says  Mrs.  Philip.  "  But  stop,  Brandon.  Did  not  they,  did  not 
we  ? — oh,  how  kind  of  them  !  "  She  was  trying  to  recall  the 
past.  Past  and  present  for  days  had  been  strangely  mingled 
in  her  fevered  brain.  *'  Hush,  my  dear !  you  are  to  be  kep' 
quite  still,"  says  the  nurse — and  then  proceeded  to  finish  the 
polishing  and  powdering  of  the  pink  frog  on  her  lap. 

The  bedroom  window  was  open  towards  the  sunny  street : 
but  Mrs.  Philip  did  not  hear  a  female  voice  say,  "  'Old  the 
'orse's    'ead,  Jim,"  or   she    might  have   been  agitated.     The 


620  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILTP 

horse's  head  was  held,  and  a  gentleman  and  a  lady  with  a  great 
basket  containing  pease,  butter,  greens,  flowers,  and  other 
rural  produce,  descended  from  the  veliicle  and  rang  at  the  bell. 

Philip  opened  it ;  with  his  little  ones,  as  usual,  trotting  at 
his  knees. 

"  Why,  my  darlings,  how  you  air  grown  !  "  cries  the  lady. 

"  By-gones  be  by-gones.  Give  us  your  'and,  Firniin  :  here's 
mine.  My  missus  has  brought  some  country  butter  and  things 
for  your  dear  good  lady.  And  we  hoped  you  liked  the  chick- 
ens. And  God  bless  you,  old  fellow,  how  are  you  ?  "  The 
tears  were  rolling  down  the  good  man's  cheeks  as  he  spoke. 
And  Mrs.  Mugford  was  likewise  exceedingly  hot,  and  very 
much  affected.  And  the  children  said  to  her,  "  Mamma  is 
better  now  :  and  we  have  a  little  brother,  and  he  is  crying  now 
up  stairs." 

"  Bless  you,  my  darlings  !  "  Mrs.  Mugford  was  off  by  this 
time.  She  put  down  her  peace-offering  of  carrots,  chickens, 
bacon,  butter.  She  cried  plentifullj'.  "  It  was  Brandon  came 
and  told  us,"  she  said  ;  "  and  when  she  told  us  how  all  your 
great  people  had  flung  you  over,  and  you'd  been  quarrelling 
again,  you  naughty  fellar,  I  says  to  Mugford,  '  Let's  go  and  see 
after  that  dear  thing,  Mugford,'  I  says.  And  here  we  are. 
And  year's  two  nice  cakes  for  your  children  "  (after  a  forage 
in  the  cornucopia),  "  and,  lor',  how  they  are  grown  !  " 

A  little  nurse  from  the  up  stairs  regions  here  makes  her  ap- 
pearance, holding  a  bundle  of  cashmere  shawls,  part  of  which 
is  removed,  and  discloses  a  being  pronounced  to  be  ravishingly 
beautiful,  and  "jest  like  Mrs.  Mugford's  Emaly !  " 

"  I  say,"  says  Mugford,  "  the  old  shop's  still  open  to  you. 
T'other  chap  wouldn't  do  at  all.  He  was  wild  when  he  got 
the  drink  on  board,  Ilirish.  Pitched  into  Bickerton,  and 
black'd  'is  eye.  It  was  Bickerton  who  told  you  lies  about  that 
poor  lady.  Don't  see  'em  no  more  now.  Borrowed  some 
money  of  me ;  haven't  seen  him  since.  We  were  both  wrong, 
and  we  must  make  it  up — the  missus  says  we  must," 

"Amen!"  said  Philip,  with  a  grasp  of  the  honest  fellow's 
hand.  And  next  Sunday  he  and  a  trim  little  sister,  and  two 
children,  went  to  an  old  church  in  Queen  Square,  Bloonisbury, 
which  was  fashionable  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  when 
Richard  Steele  kept  house,  and  did  not  pay  rent,  hard  by. 
And  when  the  clergyman  in  the  Thanksgiving  particularized 
those  who  desired  now  to  "offer  up  their  praises  and  thanks- 
giving for  late  mercies  vouchsafed  to  them,"  once  more  Philip 
Firmin  said  "  Amen,"  on  Iiis  knees,  and  with  all  his  heart.   , 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  6>J 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE     REALMS     OF     BLISS. 

You  know — all  good  boys  and  girls  at  Christmas  know- 
that,  before  the  last  scene  of  the  pantomime,  when  the  Good 
Fairy  ascends  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  and  Harlequin  and  Colum- 
bine take  hands,  having  danced  through  all  their  tricks  and 
troubles  and  tumbles,  there  is  a  dark,  brief,  seemingly  meaning- 
less, penultimate  scene,  in  which  the  performers  appear  to  grope 
about  perplexed,  whilst  the  music  of  bassoons  i^nd  trombones, 
and  the  like,  groans  tragically.  As  the  actors,  with  gestures  of 
dismay  and  outstretched  arms,  move  hither  and  thither,  the  wary 
frequenter  of  pantomimes  sees  the  illuminators  of  the  Abode  of 
Bliss  and  Hall  of  Prismatic  Splendor  nimbly  moving  behind  the 
canvas,  and  streaking  the  darkness  with  twinkling  fires — fires 
which  shall  blaze  out  presently  in  a  thousand  colors  round  the 
Good  Fairy  in  the  Revolving  temple  of  Blinding  Bliss.  Be 
happy.  Harlequin !  Love  and  be  happy  and  dance,  pretty 
Columbine  !  Children,  mamma  bids  you  put  your  shawls  on. 
And  Jack  and  Mary  (who  are  young  and  love  pantomimes)  look 
lingeringly  still  over  the  ledge  of  the  box,  whilst  the  fairy  tem- 
ple yet  revolves,  whilst  the  fireworks  play,  and  ere  the  Great 
Dark  Curtain  descends. 

My  dear  young  people,  who  have  sat  kindly  through  the 
scenes  during  which  our  entertainment  has  lasted,  be  it  known 
to  you  that  last  chapter  was  the  dark  scene.  Look  to  your 
cloaks,  and  tie  up  your  little  throats,  for  I  tell  you  the  great 
baize  will  soon  fall  down.  Have  I  had  any  secrets  from  you 
all  through  the  piece  ?  I  tell  you  the  house  will  be  empty  and 
you  will  be  in  the  cold  air.  When  the  boxes  have  got  their 
nightgowns  on,  and  you  are  all  gone,  and  I  have  turned  off  the 
gas,  and  am  in  the  empty  theafre  alone  in  the  darkness,  I 
promise  you  I  shall  not  be  merr}-.  Never  mind  !  We  can  make 
jokes  though  we  are  ever  so  sad.  We  can  jump  overhead  and 
heels,  though  I  declare  the  pit  is  half  emptied  already,  and  the 
last  orange-woman  has  slunk  away.  Encore  une  pirouette, 
Colombine !  Saute,  Arlequin,  mon  ami !  Though  there  are 
but  five  bars  more  of  the  music,  my  good  people,  we  must  jump 
over  them  briskly,  and  then  go  home  to  supper  and  bed. 


622  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

Philip  Firniin,  then,  was  immensely  moved  by  this  magna- 
nimity and  kindness  on  the  part  of  his  old  employer,  and  has 
always  considered  Mugford's  arrival  and  friendliness  as  a  special 
interposition  in  his  favor.  He  owes  it  all  to  Brandon,  he  says. 
It  was  she  who  bethought  herself  of  his  condition,  represented 
it  to  Mugford,  and  reconciled  him  to  his  enemy.  Others  were 
most  ready  with  their  money.  It  was  Brandon  who  brought 
him  work  rather  than  alms,  and  enabled  him  to  face  fortune 
cheerfully.  His  interval  of  poverty  was  so  short,  that  he 
actually  had  not  occasion  to  borrow.  A  week  more,  and  he 
could  not  have  held  out,  and  poor  Brandon's  little  marriage 
present  must  have  gone  to  the  cenotaph  of  sovereigns — the 
dear  Little  Sister's  gift  which  Philip's  family  cherish  to  this 
hour. 

So  Philip,  with  a  humbled  heart  and  demeanor,  clambered  up 
on  his  sub-editorial  stool  once  more  at  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette, 
and  again  brandished  the  paste-pot  and  the  scissors.  I  forget 
whether  Bickerton  still  remained  in  command  at  the  Fall  Mall 
Gazette,  or  was  more  kind  to  Philip  than  before,  or  was  afraid 
of  him,  having  heard  of  his  exploits  as  a  fire-eater ;  but  certain 
it  is,  the  two  did  not  come  to  a  quarrel,  giving  each  other  a  wide 
berth,  as  the  saying  is,  and  each  doing  his  own  duty.  Good-by, 
Monsieur  Bickerton.  Except  mayhap,  in  the  final  group,  round 
the  Fairy  Chariot  (when,  I  promise  you,  there  will  be  such  a 
blaze  of  glory  that  he  will  be  invisible),  we  shall  never  see  the 
little  spiteful  envious  creature  more.  Let  him  pop  down  his 
appointed  trap-door  ;  and,  quick  fiddles  !  let  the  brisk  music 
jig  on. 

Owing  to  the  coolness  which  had  arisen  between  Philip  and 
his  father  on  account  of  their  different  views  regarding  the  use 
to  be  made  of  Philip's  signature,  the  old  gentleman  drew  no 
further  bills  in  his  son's  name,  and  our  friend  was  spared  from 
the  unpleasant  persecution.  Mr.  Hunt  loved  Dr.  Firmin  .so 
ardently  that  he  could  not  bear  to  be  separated  from  the  doctor 
long.  Without  the  doctor,  London  was  a  dreary  wilderness  to 
Hunt.  Unfortunate  remembrances  of  past  pecuniary  transac- 
tions haunted  him  here.  We*  were  all  of  us  glad  when  he  finally 
retired  from  the  Covent  Garden  taverns  and  betook  liimself  to 
the  Bowery  once  more. 

And  now  friend  Philip  was  at  work  again,  hardly  earning  a 
scanty  meal  for  self,  wife,  servant,  children.  It  was  indeed  a 
meagre  meal,  and  a  small  wage.  Charlotte's  illness,  and  other 
mishaps,  had  swept  away  poor  Philip's  little  savings.  It  was 
determined  that  we  would  let  the  elegantly-furnished  apartments 


ox  ins  WAY    TIlROCGIl  TIJE   WOKLJ).  r,2^ 

on  llie  first  floor.  You  might  have  fancied  the  proud  Mr.  Fir- 
min  rather  repugnant  to  such  a  measure.  And  so  he  was  on 
the  score  of  convenience,  but  of  dignity,  not  a  whit.  To  this 
day,  if  necessity  called,  Philip  would  turn  a  mangle  with  perfect 
gravity.  I  believe  the  thought  of  Mrs.  General  Baynes's  horror 
at  the  idea  of  her  son-in-law  letting  lodgings  greatly  soothed  and 
comforted  Philip.  The  lodgings  were  absolutely  taken  by  our 
country  acquaintance.  Miss  Pybus,  who  was  coming  up  for  the 
May  meetings,  and  whom  we  persuaded  (heaven  be  good  to  us  !) 
that  she  would  find  a  most  desirable  quiet  residence  in  the  house 
of  a  man  with  three  squalling  children.  Miss  P.  came,  then, 
with  my  wife  to  look  at  the  apartments  ;  and  we  allured  her  by 
describing  to  her  the  delightful  musical  services  at  the  Found- 
ling hard  by  ;  and  she  was  very  much  pleased  with  Mrs.  Philip, 
and  did  not  even  wince  at  the  elder  children,  whose  pretty 
faces  won  the  kind  old  lady's  heart  :  and  I  am  ashamed  to  say 
we  were  rhum  about  the  baby  :  and  Pybus  was  going  to  close 
for  the  lodgings,  when  Philip  burst  out  of  his  little  room  without 
his  coat,  I  believe,  and  objurgated  a  little  printer's  boy,  who  was 
sitting  in  the  hall,  waiting  for  some  "  copy  "  regarding  which  he 
had  made  a  blunder  ;  and  Philip  used  such  violent  language  to- 
wards the  little  lazy  boy,  that  Pybus  said  "  she  never  could  think 
of  taking  apartments  in  that  house,"  and  hurried  thence  in  a 
panic.  \Vhen  Brandon  heard  of  this  project  of  letting  lodgings, 
she  was  in  a  fury.  She  might  let  lodgin's,  but  it  wasn't  for 
Philip  to  do  so.  "  Let  lodgin's,  indeed  !  Buy  a  broom,  and 
sweep  a  crossin'  !  "  Brandon  always  thought  Charlotte  a  poor- 
spirited  creature,  and  the  way  she  scolded  Mrs.  Firmin  about 
this  transaction  was  not  a  little  amusing.  Charlotte  was  not 
angry.  She  liked  the  scheme  as  little  as  Brandon.  No  other 
person  ever  asked  for  lodgings  in  Charlotte's  house.  May  and 
its  meetings  came  to  an  end.  The  old  ladies  went  back  to  their 
country  towns.  The  missionaries  returned  to  Caffraria.  (Ah ! 
where  are  the  pleasant-looking  Quakeresses  of  our  youth,  with 
their  comely  faces,  and  pretty  dove-colored  robes  ?  They  say 
the  goodly  sect  is  dwindling — dwindling.)  The  Quakeresses 
went  out  of  town  ■  then  the  fashionable  world  began  to  move  : 
the  Parliament  went  out  of  town.  In  a  word,  everybody  who 
could,  made  away  for  a  holiday,  whilst  poor  Philip  remained  at 
his  work,  snipping  and  pasting  his  paragraphs,  and  doing  his 
humble  drudgery. 

A  sojourn,  on  the  sea-shore  was  prescribed  by  Dr.  Good- 
enough,  as  absolutely  necessary  for  Charlotte  and  her  young 
ones,  and  when  Philip  pleaded  certain  cogent  reasons  why  the 


624  THE  ADVENTi'RES  OF  rinur  • 

family  could  not  take  the  medicine  prescribed  by  the  doctor; 
that  eccentric  physician  had  recourse  to  the  same  pocket-book 
which  we  have  known  him  to  produce  on  a  former  occasion ; 
and  took  from  it,  for  what  I  know,  some  of  \he  very  same 
notes  which  he  had  formerly  given  to  the  Little  Sister.  "  I 
suppose  you  may  as  well  have  them  as  that  rascal  Hunt  ?  " 
said  the  Doctor,  scowling  very  fiercely.  "  Don't  tell  »ic.  Stufif 
and  nonsense.  Pooh  !  Pay  me  when  you  are  a  rich  man  ! " 
And  this  Samaritan  had  jumped  into  his  carriage,  and  was 
gone,  before  Philij)  or  Mrs.  Philip  could  say  a  word  of  thanks. 
Look  at  him  as  he  is  going  off.  See  the  green  brougham 
drive  away,  and  turn  westward,  and  mark  it  well.  A  shoe  go 
after  thee,  John  Goodenough ;  we  shall  see  thee  no  more  in 
this  -story.  You  are  not  in  the  secret,  good  reader :  but  I, 
who  have  been  living  with  certain  people  for  many  months 
past,  and  have  a  hearty  liking  for  some  of  them,  grow  very 
soft  when  the  hour  for  shaking  hands  comes,  to  think  we  are 
to  meet  no  more.  Go  to  !  when  this  tale  began,  and  for  some 
months  after,  a  pair  of  kind  old  eyes  used  to  read  these  pages, 
which  are  now  closed  in  the  sleep  appointed  for  all  of  us.  And 
so  page  is  turned  after  page,  and  behold  Finis  and  the  volume's 
end. 

So  Philip  and  his  young  folks  came  down  to  Periwinkle 
Bay,  where  we  were  staying,  and  the  girls  in  the  two  families 
nursed  the  baby,  and  the  child  and  mother  got  health  and  com- 
fort from  the  fresh  air,  and  Mr.  Mugford — who  believes  him- 
self to  be  the  finest  sub-editor  in  the  world,  and  I  can  tell  you 
there  is  a  great  art  m  sub-editing  a  paper — Mr.  Mugford,  I 
say,  took  Philip's  scissors  and  paste-pot,  whilst  the  latter  en- 
joyed his  holiday.  And  J.  J.  Ridley,  R.A.,  came  and  joined 
us  presently,  and  we  had  many  sketching  parties,  and  my  draw- 
ings of  the  various  points  about  the  bay,  viz.,  Lobster  Head, 
the  Mollusc  Rocks,  &c.,  &;c.,  are  considered  to  be  very  spirited, 
though  my  little  boy  (who  certainly  has  not  his  father's  taste 
for  art)  mistook  for  the  rock  a  really  capital  portrait  of  Philip, 
in  a  gray  hat  and  paletot,  sprawling  on  the  sand. 

Some  twelve  miles  inland  from  the  bay  is  the  little  town  of 
VVhipham  Market,  and  \Miipham  skirts  the  park  palings  of 
that  castle  where  I,ord  Ringwood  had  lived,  and  where  Philip's 
mother  was  born  and  bred.  There  is  a  statue  of  the  late  lord 
in  Whipham  market-place.  Could  he  have  had  his  will,  the 
borough  would  have  continued  to  return  two  Members  to  Par- 
liament, as  in  the  good  old  times  before  us.  in  that  ancient 
and  grass-grown  little  place,  where  your  footsteps  echo  as  you 


ox  Ills  WAY  TIIROCGH  THE  WORLD.  625 

pass  through  the  street,  where  you  hear  distinctly  the  creaking 
of  the  sign  of  the  "  Ringwo'-.^I  Arms  "  hotel  and  posting-house, 
and  the  opposition  creaking  of  the  "  Ram  Inn  "  over  the  way 
— where  the  half-pay  captain,  the  curate,  and  the  medical  man 
stand  before  the  fly-blown  window-blind  of  the  "  Ringwood  In- 
stitute "  and  survey  the  strangers — there  is  still  a  respect  felt 
for  the  memory  of  the  great  lord  who  dwelt  behind  the  oaks 
in  yonder  hall.  He  had  his  faults.  His  lordship's  life  was 
not  that  of  an  anchorite.  The  company  his  lordship  kept,  es- 
pecially in  his  latter  days,  was  not  of  that  select  description 
which  a  nobleman  of  his  lordship's  rank  might  command. 
But  he  was  a  good  friend  to  Whipham.  He  was  a  good  land- 
lord to  a  good  tenant.  If  he  had  his  will,  Whipham  would 
have  kept  its  own.  His  lordship  paid  half  the  expense  after 
the  burning  of  the  town  hall.  He  was  an  arbitrary  man,  cer- 
tainly, and  he  flogged  Alderman  DufBe  before  his  own  shop, 
but  he  apologized  for  it  most  handsome  afterwards.  Would 
the  gentlemen  like  port  or  sherry  ?  Claret  not  called  for  in 
Whipham  ■  not  at  all :  and  no  fish,  because  all  the  fish  at  Peri- 
winkle Bay  is  brought  up  and  goes  to  London.  Such  were  the 
remarks  made  by  the  landlord  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms  "  to 
three  cavaliers  who  entered  that  hostelry.  And  you  may  be 
sure  he  told  us  about  Lord  Ringwocd's  death  in  the  post-chaise 
as  he  came  from  Turreys  Regum  ]  and  how  his  lordship  went 
through  them  gates  (pointing  to  a  pair  of  gates  and  lodges 
which  skirt  the  town),  and  was  drove  up  to  the  castle  and  laid 
in  state  ;  and  his  lordship  never  wouid  take  the  railway,  never ; 
and  he  always  travelled  like  a  nobleman,  and  when  he  came  to 
a  hotel  and  changed  horses,  he  always  called  for  a  bottle  of 
wine,  and  only  took  a  glass,  and  sometimes  not  even  that.  And 
the  present  Sir  John  has  kept  no  company  here  as  yet ;  and 
they  say  he  is  close  of  his  money,  they  say  he  is.  And  this  is 
certain,  Whipham  haven't  seen  much  of  it,  Whipham  haven't. 

We  went  into  the  inn  yard,  which  may  have  been  once  a 
stirring  place,  and  then  sauntered  up  to  the  park  gate,  sur- 
mounted by  the  supporters  and  armorial  bearings  of  the  Ring- 
woods.  "  I  wonder  whether  my  poor  mother  came  out  of  that 
gate  when  she  eloped  with  my  father? "_  said  Phihp.  "Poor 
thing,  poor  thing  !  "  The  great  gates  were  shut.  The  wester- 
ing sun  cast  shadows  over  the  sward  where  here  and  there  the 
deer  were  browsing,  and  at  some  mile  distance  lay  the  house, 
with  its  towers  and  porticos  and  vanes  flaming  in  the  sun.  The 
small  gate  was  open,  and  a  girl  was  standing  by  the  lodge  door. 

Was  the  house  to  be  seen? 

-.0 


626  TJfE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILIP 

"Yes,"  says  a  little  red-cheeked  girl,  with  a  curtsey. 

"  No  !  "  calls  out  a  harsh  voice  from  within,  and  an  old  wo- 
man comes  out  from  the  lodge  and  looks  at  us  fiercely.  "  No- 
body is  to  go  to  the  house.     The  family  is  a-coming." 

That  was  provoking.  Philip  would  have  liked  to  behold 
the  great  house  where  his  mother  and  her  ancestors  were  born. 

"  Marry,  good  dame,'*  Philip's  companion  said  to  the  old 
beldam,  "  this  goodly  gentleman  hath  a  right  of  entrance  to 
yonder  castle,  which  I  trow,  ye  wot  not  of.  Heard  ye  never 
tell  of  one  Philip  Ringwood,  slain  at  Busaco's  glorious  fi " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  and  don't  chaff  her,  Pen,"  growled 
Firmin. 

"  Nay,  and  she  knows  not  Philip  Ringwood's  grandson," 
the  other  wag  continued,  in  a  softened  tone,  "this  will  convince 
her  of  our  right  to  enter.  Canst  recognize  this  image  of  your 
queen  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  'ee  can  go  up,"  said  the  old  woman,  at  the 
sight  of  this  talisman.  "  There's  only  two  of  them  staying 
there,  and  they're  out  a-drivin'," 

Philip  was  bent  on  seeing  the  halls  of  his  ancestors.  Gray 
and  huge,  with  towers,  and  vanes,  and  porticos,  they  lay  before 
us  a  mile  off,  separated  from  us  by  a  streak  of  glistening  river. 
A  great  chestnut  avenue  led  up  to  the  river,  and  in  the  dappled 
grass  the  deer  was  browsing. 

You  know  the  house  of  course.  There  is  a  picture  of  it  in 
Watts,  bearing  date  1783.  A  gentleman  in  a  cocked  hat  and 
pigtail  is  rowing  a  lady  in  a  boat  on  the  shining  river.  An- 
other nobleman  in  a  cocked  hat  is  angling  in  the  glistening  river 
from  the  bridge,  over  which  a  post-chaise  is  passing. 

"  Yes,  the  place  is  like  enough,"  said  Philip  ;  "  but  I  miss 
the  post-chaise  going  over  the  bridge,  and  the  lady  in  the  punt 
with  the  tall  parasol.  Don't  you  remember  the  print  in  our 
housekeeper's  room  in  Old  Parr  Street  1  My  poor  mother  used 
to  tell  me  about  the  house,  and  I  imagined  it  grander  than  the 
palace  of  Aladdin.  It  is  a  very  handsome  house,"  Philip  went 
on.  "  '  It  extends  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet  by  seventy-five, 
and  consists  of  a  rustic  basement  and  principal  story,  with  an 
attic  in  the  centre,  the  whole  executed  in  stone.  The  grand 
front  towards  the  park  is  adorned  with  a  noble  portico  of  the 
Corinthian  order,  and  may  with  propriety  be  considered  one  oV 
the  finest  elevations  in  the  ■ — — .'  I  tell  you  I  am  quoting  out 
of  Watts's  'Seats  of  the  Nobility  and  Gentry,' published  by 
John  and  Josiah  Boydell,  and  lying  in  our  drawing-room.  Ah, 
'•(ear  me  !  I  painted  the  boat  and  the  lady  and  gentleman   in 


ON  ins  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  627 

the  drawing-room  copy,  and  my  father  boxed  my  ears,  and  my 
mother  cried  out,  poor  dear  soul !  And  this  is  the  river,  is  it  ? 
And  over  this  the  post-chaise  went  with  the  club-tailed  horses, 
and  here  was  the  pigtailed  gentleman  fishing.  It  gives  me  a 
queer  sensation,"  says  Philip,  standing  on  the  bridge,  and 
stretching  out  his  big  arms.  "  Yes,  there  are  the  two  people  in 
the  punt  by  the  rushes.  I  can  see  them,  but  you  can't ;  and  I 
hope,  sir,  you  will  have  good  sport."  And  here  he  took  off  his 
hat  to  an  imaginary  gentleman  supposed  to  be  angling  from  the 
balustrade  for  ghostly  gudgeon.  We  reach  the  house  presently. 
We  ring  at  the  door  in  the  basement  under  the  portico.  The 
porter  demurs,  and  says  some  of  the  family  is  down,  but  they 
are  out,  to  be  sure.  The  same  half-crown  argument  answers 
with  him  which  persuaded  the  keeper  at  the  lodge.  We  go 
through  the  show-rooms  of  the  stately  but  somewhat  faded  and 
melancholy  palace.  In  the  cedar  dining-room  there  hangs  the 
grim  portrait  of  the  late  earl ;  and  that  fair-haired  officer  in 
red  ?  that  must  be  Philip's  grandfather.  And  those  two  slim 
girls  embracing,  surely  those  are  his  mother  and  his  aunt. 
Philip  walks  softly  through  the  vacant  rooms.  He  gives  the 
pojter  a  gold  piece  ere  he  goes  out  of  the  great  hall,  forty  feet 
cube  ornamented  with  statues  brought  from  Rome  by  John  first 
Baron,  namely,  Heliogabalus,  Nero's  mother,  a  priestess  of  Isis, 
and  a  river  god  ;  the  pictures  over  the  doors  by  Pedimento  \ 
the  ceiling  by  Leotardi,  &:c. ;  and  in  a  window  in  the  great  hall 
there  is  a  table  with  a  visitors'  book,  in  which  Philip  writes  his 
name.  As  we  went  away,  we  met  a  carriage  which  drove  rapidly 
towards  the  house,  and  which  no  doubt  contained  the  members 
of  the  Ringwood  family,  regarding  whom  the  porteress  had 
spoken.  After  the  family  differences  previously  related,  we  did 
not  care  to  face  these  kinsfolks  of  Philip,  and  passed  on  quickly 
in  twilight  beneath  the  rustling  umbrage  of  the  chestnuts.  J, 
J.  saw  a  hundred  fine  pictorial  effects  as  we  walked  ;  the  palace 
reflected  in  the  water ;  the  dappled  deer  under  the  chequered 
shadow  of  the  trees.  It  was,  "  Oh,  what  a  jolly  bit  of  color," 
and,  "  I  say,  look,  how  well  that  old  woman's  red  cloak  comes 
in !  "  and  so  forth.  Painters  never  seem  tired  of  their  work. 
At  seventy  they  are  students  still,  patient,  docile,  happy.  May 
we  too,  my  good  sir,  live  for  fourscore  years,  and  never  be  too 
old  to  learn  !  The  walk,  the  brisk  accompanying  conversation, 
amid  stately  scenery  around,  brought  us  with  good  appetites 
and  spirits  to  our  inn,  where  we  were  told  that  dinner  would  be 
served  when  the  omnibus  arrived  from  the  railway. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  "  Ringwood  Arms,''  and  on  the 


628  THE  ADVENTURES  OE  PHILIP 

opposite  side  of  the  street,  is  the  "  Ram  Inn,"  neat  post-chaises 
and  farmers'  ordinary  ;  a  house,  of  which  the  pretensions  seemed 
less,  though  the  trade  was  somewhat  more  lively.  When  the 
tooting  of  the  horn  announced  the  arrival  of  the  omnibus  from 
the  railway,  I  should  think  a  crowd  of  at  least  fifteen  people 
assembled  at  various  doors  of  the  High  Street  and  ]\Iarket. 
The  half-pay  captain  and  the  curate  came  out  from  the  "  Ring- 
wood  Athena^um,"  The  doctor's  apprentice  stood  on  the  step 
of  the  surgery  door,  and  the  surgeon's  lady  looked  out  from  the 
first  floor.  We  shared  the  general  curiosity.  We  and  the 
waiter  stood  at  the  door  of  the  '•  Ringwood  Arms."  We  were 
mortified  to  see  that  of  the  five  persons  conveyed  by  the  'bus, 
one  was  a  tradesman,  who  descended  at  his  door,  (Mr.  Pack- 
wood,  the  saddler,  so  the  waiter  informed  us,)  three  travellers 
were  discharged  at  the  "  Ram,"  and  only  one  came  to  us. 

"Mostly  bagmen  goes  to  the  '  Ram,'  "  the  waiter  said,  with 
a  scornful  air ;  and  these  bagmen,  and  their  bags,  quitted  the 
omnibus. 

Only  one  passenger  remained  for  the  "  Ringwood  Arms 
Hotel,"  and  he  presently  descended  under  \.\\& porte-cochere ;  and 
the  omnibus — I  own,  with  regret,  it  was  but  a  one-horse  ma- 
chine— drove  rattling  into  the  court-yard,  where  the  bells  of  the 
"  Star,"  the  "  George,"  the  "  Rodney,"  the  "  Dolphin,"  and  so 
on,  had  once  been  wont  to  jingle,  and  the  court  had  echoed 
with  the  noise  and  clatter  of  hoofs  and  ostlers,  and  the  cries  of 
"  First  and  second,  turn  out." 

Who  was  the  merry-faced  little  gentleman  in  black,  who  got 
out  of  the  omnibus,  and  cried,  when  he  saw  us,  "  \\'hat,  you 
here  ?  "  It  was  Mr.  Bradgate,  that  lawyer  of  Lord  Ringwood's 
with  whom  we  made  a  brief  acquaintance  just  after  his  lord- 
ship's death.  "  What,  you  here  ? "  cries  Bradgate,  then,  to 
Philii^.  "  Come  down  about  this  business,  of  course  ?  Very 
glad  that  you  aii^  —  and  certain  parties  have  made  it  up. 
Thought  you  weren't  friends." 

What  business  ?  What  parties  ?  ^^'e  had  not  heard  the 
news  ?  We  had  only  come  over  from  Periwinkle  Bay  by  chance, 
in  order  to  see  the  house. 

"  How  very  singular  !  Did  you  meet  the — the  people  who 
were  staying  there  ?  " 

We  said  we  had  seen  a  carriage  pass,  but  did  not  remark 
who  was  in  it.  What,  however,  was  the  news  ?  Well.  It 
would  be  known  immediately,  and  would  appear  in  Tuesday's 
Gazette.  The  news  was  that  Sir  John  Ringwood  was  going  to 
take  a  peerage,  and  that  the  seat  for  Whipham  would  be  vacant. 


ON  nis  WA  Y  rrrROUGir  the  world.  629 

And  herewith  our  friend  produced  from  liis   travelling  bag  a 
proclamation,  which  he  read  to  us,  and  which  was  addressed — 

"  To  the  worthy  and  independent  Electors  of  the  Borough  of 
Ringwood, 

"  Lofidon,  Wednesday. 
"  Gentlemen, — A  gracious  Sovereign  having  been  pleased  to 
order  that  the  family  of  Ringwood  should  continue  to  be  repre- 
sented in  the  House  of  Peers,  I  take  leave  of  my  friends  and 
constituents  who  have  given  me  their  kind  confidence  hitherto, 
and  promise  them  that  my  regard  for  them  will  never  cease,  or 
my  interest  in  the  town  and  neighborhood  where  my  family 
have  dwelt  for  many  centuries.  The  late  lamented  Lord  Ring- 
wood's  brother  died  in  the  service  of  his  Sovereign  in  Portugal, 
following  the  same  flag  under  which  his  ancestors  for  centuries 
have  fought  and  bled.  My  own  son  serves  the  Crown  in  a 
civil  capacity.  It  was  natural  that  one  of  our  name  and  family 
should  continue  the  relations  which  so  long  have  subsisted 
between  us  and  this  loyal,  affectionate,  but  independent  borough. 
Mr.  Ringwood's  onerous  duties  in  the  ofifice  which  he  holds  are 
sufficient  to  occupy  his  time.  A  gentleman  united  to  our  family 
by  the  closest  ties  will  offer  himself  as  a  candidate  for  your 
suffrages " 

"  Why,  who  is  it .''  He  is  not  going  to  put  in  uncle  Twys- 
den,  or  my  sneak  of  a  cousin  .''  " 

"  No,"  says  Mr.  Bradgate. 

"  Well,  bless  my  soul  !  he  can't  mean  me,"  said  Philip. 
"  Who  -is  the  dark  horse  he  has  in  his  stable  ?  " 

Then  Mr.  Bradgate  laughed.  "  Dark  horse  you  may  call 
him.  The  new  Member  is  to  be  Grenville  Woolcomb,  Esq., 
your  West  India  relative,  and  no  other." 

Those  who  know  the  extreme  energy  of  Mr.  P.  Firmin's 
language  when  he  is  excited,  may  imagine  the  explosion  of 
Philippine  wrath  which  ensued  as  our  friend  heard  this  name. 
"  That  miscreant :  that  skinflint :  that  wealthy  crossing-sweeper  : 
that  ignoramus  who  scarce  could  do  more  than  sign  his  name ! 
Oh,  it  was  horrible,  shameful !  Why,  the  man  is  on  such  ill 
terms  with  his  wife  that  they  say  he  strikes  her.  When  I  see 
him  I  feel  inclined  to  choke  him,  and  murder  him.  JY/crf  brute 
going  into  Parliament,  and  the  republican  Sir  John  Ringwood 
sending  him  there  !     It's  monstrous  ! " 

"  Family  arrangements.  Sir  John,  or,  I  should  say,  my 
Lord  Ringwood,  is  one  of  the  most  affectionate  of  parents," 
Mr,   Bradgate    remarked.     "  He    has    a    large    family  by  his 


630  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PITIUP 

second  marriage,  and  his  estates  go  to  his  eldest  son.  We 
must  not  quarrel  with  Lord  Ringwood  for  wishing  to  provide 
for  his  young  ones.  I  don't  say  that  he  quite  acts  up  to  the 
extreme  Liberal  principle  of  which  he  was  once  rather  fond  of 
boasting.  But  if  you  were  offered  a  peerage,  what  would  you 
do  ;  what  would  I  do  t  If  you  wanted  money  for  your  young 
ones,  and  could  get  it,  would  you  not  take  it  1  Come,  come, 
don't  let  us  have  too  much  of  this  Spartan  virtue!  If  we  were 
tried,  my  good  friend,  we  should  not  be  much  worse  or  better 
than  our  neighbors.  Is  my  fly  coming,  waiter  ?  "  We  asked 
Mr.  Bradgate  to  defer  his  departure,  and  to  share  our  dinner. 
But  he  declined,  and  said  he  must  go  up  to  the  great  house, 
where  he  and  his  client  had  plenty  of  business  to  arrange,  and 
where  no  doubt  he  would  stay  for  the  night.  He  bade  the  inn 
servants  put  his  portmanteau  into  his  carriage  when  it  came. 
"The  old  lord  had  some  famous  port-wine,"  he  said  ;  "  I  hope 
my  friends  have  the  key  of  the  cellar." 

The  waiter  was  just  putting  our  meal  on  the  table,  as  we 
stood  in  the  bow-window  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms "  coffee- 
room,  engaged  in  this  colloquy.  Hence  we  could  see  the  street, 
and  the  opposition  inn  of  the  "Ram,"  where  presently  a  great 
placard  was  posted.  At  least  a  dozen  street-boys,  shopmen, 
and  rustics  were  quickly  gathered  round  this  manifesto,  and  we 
ourselves  went  out  to  examine  it.  The  "  Ram  "  placard  de« 
nounced,  in  terms  of  unmeasured  wrath,  the  impudent  attempt 
from  the  Castle  to  dictate  to  the  free  and  independent  electors 
of  the  borough.  Freemen  were  invited  not  to  promise  their 
votes  ;  to  show  themselves  worthy  of  their  name  ;  to  submit  to 
no  Castle  dictation.  A  county  gentleman  of  property,  of  in- 
fluence, of  liberal  principles— no  West  Indian,  no  Castle 
Flunkey,  but  a  True  Englfsh  Gentleman,  would  come  for- 
ward to  rescue  them  from  the  tyranny  under  which  they 
labored.  On  this  point  the  electors  might  rely  on  the  word  of 
A  Briton. 

"  This  was  brought  down  by  the  clerk  from  Bedloe's.  He 
and  a  newspaper  man  came  down  in  the  train  with  me  :  a 
Mr. ." 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  forth  from  the  "  Ram  "  the  news- 
paper man  of  whom  Mr.  Bradgate  spoke— an  old  friend  and 
comrade  of  Philip,  that  energetic  man  and  able  reporter,  Phipps 
of  the  Daily  InteUigcncer,  who  recognized  Philip,  and  cordially 
greeting  him,  asked  what  he  did  down  here,  and  supposed  he 
had  come  to  support  his  family. 

Philip  explained  that  we  were  strangers,  had  come  from  a 


ON  JUS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  631 

neighboring  watering-place  to  see  the  home  of  Philip's  ances- 
tors, and  were  not  even  aware,  until  then,  that  an  electioneering 
contest  was  pending  in  the  place,  or  that  Sir  John  Ringwood 
was  about  to  be  promoted  to  the  peerage.  Meanwhile,  Mr. 
Bradgate's  fly  had  driven  out  of  the  hotel  yard  of  the  "  Ring 
wood  Arms,"  and  the  lawyer  running  to  the  house  for  a  bag  of 
papers,  jumped  into  the  carriage  and  called  to  the  coachman  to 
drive  to  the  Castle. 

"  Bonappetit  /"  says  he,  in  a  confident  tone,  and  he  was  gone. 

'  Would  Phipps  dine  with  us  ?  "  Phipps  whispered,  "  I  am 
on  the  other  side,  and  the  '  Ram '  is  our  house." 

We,  who  were  on  no  side,  entered  into  the  "  Ringwood 
Arms,"  and  sat  down  to  our  meal — to  the  mutton  and  the  cat- 
sup, cauliflower,  and  potatoes,  the  copper-edged  side-dishes, 
and  the  watery  melted  butter,  with  which  strangers  are  regaled 
in  inns  in  declining  towns.  The  town  badauds,  who  had  read 
the  placard  at  the  "  Ram,"  now  came  to  peruse  the  proclama- 
tion in  our  window.  I  dare  say  thirty  pairs  of  clinking  boots 
stopped  before  the  one  window  and  the  other,  the  while  we  ate 
tough  mutton  and  drank  fiery  sherry.  And  J.  J.,  leaving  his 
dinner,  sketched  some  of  the  figures  of  the  townsfolk  staring  at 
the  manifesto,  with  the  old-fashioned  "  Ram  Inn  "  for  a  back- 
ground— a  picturesque  gable  enough. 

Our  meal  was  just  over,  when,  somewhat  to  our  surprise, 
our  friend  Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer  returned  to  the  "  Ring- 
wood  x\rms."  He  wore  a  disturbed  countenance.  He  asked 
what  he  could  have  for  dinner  1  Mutton,  neither  hot  nor  cold. 
Hum  !  That  must  do.  So  he  had  not  been  invited  to  dine  at 
the  Park  ?  We  rallied  him  with  much  facetiousness  on  this 
disappointment. 

Little  Bradgate's  eyes  started  with  wrath.  "  What  a  churl 
the  little  black  fellow  is  !  "  he  cried.  '•  I  took  him  his  papers. 
I  talked  with  him  till  dinner  was  laid  in  the  very  room  where 
we  were.  French  beans  and  neck  of  venison — I  saw  the  house- 
keeper and  his  man  bring  them  in  I  And  Mr.  Woolcomb  did 
not  so  much  as  ask  me  to  sit  down  to  dinner — but  told  me  to 
come  again  at  nine  o'clock  !  Confound  this  mutton — it's  neither 
hot  nor  cold  !  The  little  skinflint !  The  glasses  of  fiery  sherry 
which  Bradgate  now  swallowed  served  rather  to  choke  than 
appease  the  lawyer.  We  laughed,  and  this  jocularity  angered 
him  more.  "Oh,"  said  he,  "lam  not  the  only  person  Wool- 
comb  was  rude  to.  He  was  in  a  dreadful  ill  temper.  He 
abused  his  wife  :  and  when  he  read  somebody's  name  in  the 
stranger's  book,  I  promise  you,  Firmin,  he  abused ^t^/^     I  had 


652 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


a  mind  to  say  to  him,  '  Sir,  Mr.  Firmin  is  dining  at  the  ''  Ring- 
wood  Arms,"  and  I  will  tell  him  what  you  say  of  him.'  What 
india-rubber  mutton  this  is  !  What  villanous  sherry  !  Go  back 
to  him  at  nine  o'clock,  indeed  !     Be  hanged  to  his  impudence  !  " 

"  You  must  not  abuse  Woolcomb  before  Firmin,"  said  one 
of  our  party.  "  Philip  is  so  fond  of  his  cousin's  husband,  that 
he  cannot  bear  to  hear  the  black  man  abused." 

This  was  not  a  very  brilliant  joke,  but  Philip  grinned  at  it 
with  much  savage  satisfaction. 

"  Hit  Woolcomb  as  hard  as  you  please,  he  has  no  friends 
here,  Mr.  Bradgate,"  growled  Philip.  "  So  he  is  rude  to  his 
lawyer,  is  he  ? " 

"  I  tell  you  he  is  worse  than  the  old  earl,"  cried  the  indig- 
nant Bradgate.  "  At  least  the  old  man  was  a  peer  of  England, 
and  could  be  a  gentleman  when  he  wished.  But  to  be  bullied 
by  a  fellow  who  might  be  a  black  footman,  or  ought  to  be 
sweeping  a  crossing  !     It's  monstrous  !  " 

"  Don't  speak  ill  of  a  man  and  a  brother,  Mr.  Bradgate. 
Woolcomb  can't  help  his  complexion." 

"  But  he  can  help  his  confounded  impudence,  and  sha'n't 
practise  it  on  me  !''''  the  attorney  cried. 

As  Bradgate  called  out  from  his  box,  puffing  and  fuming, 
friend  J.  J.  was  scribbling  in  the  little  sketch-book  which  he 
always  carried.  He  smiled  over  his  work.  "  I  know,"  he  said, 
"  the  Black  Prince  well  enough.  I  have  often  seen  him  driving 
his  chestnut  mares  in  the  Park,  with  that  bewildered  white  wife 
by  his  side.  I  am  sure  that  woman  is  miserable,  and,  poor 
thing " 

"  Serve  her  right !  What  did  an  English  lady  mean  by 
marrying  such  a  fellow  !  "  cries  Bradgate. 

"  A  fellow  who  does  not  ask  his  lawyer  to  dinner  !  "  remarks 
one  of  the  company  ;  perhaps  the  reader's  very  humble  ser- 
vant. "  But  what  an  imprudent  lawyer  he  has  chosen — a  lawyer 
who  speaks  his  mind." 

"  I  have  spoken  my  mind  to  his  betters,  and  be  hanged  to 
him  !  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  af  raid  of /«>/;. i"'  bawls  the 
irascible  solicitor. 

"  Contanpsi  Catilhm  gladios — do  you  remember  the  old 
quotation  at  school,  Philip.'"'  And  here  there  was  a  break  in 
our  conversation,  for  chancing  to  look  at  friend  J.  J.'s  sketch- 
book, we  saw  that  he  had  made  a  wonderful  little  drawing, 
representing  Woolcomb  and  Woolcomb's  wife,  grooms,  phaeton, 
and  chestnut  mares,  as  they  were  to  be  seen  any  afternoon  in 
Hvd'^  Park  durin?  the  London  season. 


O.V  HIS  \VA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  633 

Admirable  !  Capital !  Everybody  at  once  knew  the  like- 
ness of  the  dusky  charioteer.  Iracundus  himself  smiled  and 
sniggered  over  it.  "  Unless  you  behave  yourself,  Mr.  Brad- 
gate,  Ridley  will  make  a  picture  oi  you,"  says  Philip.  Bradgate 
made  a  comical  face,  and  retreated  into  his  box,  of  which  he 
pretended  to  draw  the  curtain.  But  the  sociable  little  man  did 
not  long  remain  in  his  retirement  ;  he  emerged  from  it  in  a 
short  time,  his  wine  decanter  in  his  hand,  and  joined  our  little 
party  ;  and  then  we  fell  to  talking  of  old  times  ;  and  we  all 
remembered  a  famous  drawing  by  H.  B.,  of  the  late  Earl  of 
Ringwood,  in  the  old-fashioned  swallow-tailed  coat  and  tight 
trousers,  on  the  old-fashioned  horse,  with  the  old-fashioned 
groom  behind  him,  as  he  used  to  be  seen  pounding  along 
Rotten  Row. 

"  I  speak  my  mind,  do  I  ?  "  says  Bradgate,  presently.  "  I 
know  somebody  who  spoke  his  mind  to  that  old  man,  and  who 
would  have  been  better  off  if  he  had  held  his  tongue." 

"  Come,  tell  me,  Bradgate,"  cried  Philip.  "  It  is  all  over 
and  past  now.  Had  Lord  Ringwood  left  me  something  ?  I 
declare  I  thought  at  one  time  that  he  intended  to  do  so." 

"  Nay,  has  not  your  friend  here  been  rebuking  me  for 
speaking  my  mind  ?  I  am  going  to  be  as  mum  as  a  mouse. 
Let  us  talk  about  the  election,"  and  the  provoking  lawyer 
would  say  no  more  on  a  subject  possessing  a  dismal  interest 
for  poor  Phil. 

"  I  have  no  more  right  to  repine,"  said  that  philosopher, 
"than  a  man  would  have  who  drew  number  at  in  the  lottery, 
when  the  winning  ticket  was  number  y.  Let  us  talk,  as  you 
say,  about  the  election.     Who  is  to  oppose  Mr.  Woolcomb  ?  " 

Mr.  Bradgate  believed  a  neighboring  squire,  Mr.  Hornblow, 
was  to  be  the  candidate  put  forward  against  the  Ringwood 
nominee. 

"  Hornblow  !  what,  Hornblow  of  Grey  Friars  ?  "  cries  Philip. 
"A  better  fellow  never  lived.  In  this  case  he  shall  have  our 
vote  and  interest ;  and  I  think  we  ought  to  go  over  and  take 
another  dinner  at  the  'Ram.'  " 

The  new  candidate  actually  turned  out  to  be  Philip's  old 
school  and  college  friend,  Mr.  Hornblow.  After  dinner  we 
met  him  with  a  staff  of  canvassers  on  the  tramp  through  the 
little  town.  Mr.  Hornblow  was  paying  his  respects  to  such 
tradesmen  as  had  their  shops  yet  open.  Next  day  being  market- 
day,  he  proposed  to  canvass  the  market-people.  ''  If  I  meet 
the  black  man,  Firmin,"  said  the  burly  squire,  "  I  think  I  can 
chaff  him  off  his  legs.     He  is  a  bad  one  at  speaking,  I  am  told." 


634  ^-^^^  ^^  VENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

As  if  the  tongue  of  Plato  would  have  prevailed  in  Whipham 
and  against  the  nominee  of  the  great  house  !  The  hour  was 
late  to  be  sure,  but  the  companions  of  Mr.  Hornblow  on  his 
canvass  augured  ill  of  his  success  after  half-an-hour's  walk  at 
his  heels.  Baker  Jones  would  not  promise  no  how ;  that 
meant  Jones  would  vote  for  the  Castle,  Mr.  Hornblow's  legal 
aide-de-camp,  Mr.  Batley,  was  forced  to  allow.  Butcher  Brown 
was  having  his  tea, — his  shrii.-voiced  wife  told  us,  looking  out 
from  her  glazed  back  parlor  :  Brown  would  vote  for  the  Castle. 
Saddler  Briggs  would  see  about  it.  Grocer  Adams  fairly  said 
he  would  vote  against  us  —  against  tn  ? — against  Hornblow, 
whose  part  we  were  taking  already.  I  fear  the  flattering 
promises  of  support  of  a  great  body  of  free  and  unbiassed 
electors,  which  had  induced  Mr.  Hornblow  to  come  forward 
and,  &c.,  were  but  inventions  of  that  little  lawyer,  Batley,  who 
found  his  account  in  having  a  contest  in  the  borough.  When 
the  polling-day  came — ^you  see  I  disdain  to  make  any  mysteries 
in  this  simple  and  veracious  story  —  Mr.  Grenville  Wool- 
comb,  whose  solicitor  and  agent  spoke  for  him — Mr.  Grenville 
Woolcomb,  who  could  not  spell  or  speak  two  sentences  of 
decent  English,  and  whose  character  for  dulness,  ferocity,  pe- 
nuriousness,  jealousy,  almost  fatuit}^,  was  notorious  to  all  the 
world — was  returned  by  an  immense  majority,  and  the  country 
gendeman  brought  scarce  a  hundred  votes  to  the  poll. 

We  who  were  in  nowise  engaged  in  the  contest,  neverthe- 
less found  amusement  from  it  in  a  quiet  country  place  where 
little  else  was  stirring.  We  came  over  once  or  twice  from 
Periwinkle  Bay.  We  mounted  Hornblow's  colors  openly.  We 
drove  up  ostentatiously  to  the  "  Ram,"  forsaking  the  "  Ring- 
wood  Arms,"  where  Mr.  Grenville  Woolcomb's  Committee 
Room  was  now  established  in  that  very  coffee-room  where  we 
had  dined  in  Mr.  Bradgate's  company.  We  warmed  in  the 
contest.  We  met  Bradgate  and  his  principal  more  than  once, 
and  our  Montagus  and  Capulets  defied  each  other  in  the  public 
street.  It  was  fine  to  see  Philip's  great  figure  and  noble  scowl 
when  he  met  Woolcomb  at  the  canvass.  Gleams  of  mulatto 
hate  quivered  irom  the  eyes  of  the  little  captain.  Darts  of  fire 
flashed  from  beneath  Philip's  eyebrows  as  he  elbowed  his  way 
forward,  and  hustled  Woolcomb  off  the  pavement.  Mr.  Philip 
never  disguised  any  sentiment  of  his.  "  Hate  the  little  igno- 
rant, spiteful,  vulgar,  avaricious  beast  ?  Of  course  I  hate  him, 
and  I  should  like  to  pitch  him  into  the  river."  "  Oh,  Philip  !  " 
Charlotte  pleaded.  But  there  was  no  reasoning  with  this 
savage  when  in  wrath.  I  deplored,  though  perhaps  I  was 
amused  by,  his  ferocity. 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  635 

The  local  paper  on  our  side  was  filled  witii  withering 
epigrams  against  this  poor  Woolcomb,  of  which,  1  suspect, 
Philip  was  the  author.  I  think  I  know  that  fierce  style  and 
tremendous  invective.  In  the  man  whom  he  hat^^  he  can  see 
no  good  :  and  in  his  friend  no  fault.  When  we  met  Bradgate 
apart  from  his  principal,  we  were  friendly  enough.  He  said 
we  had  no  chance  in  the  contest.  He  did  not  conceal  his  dis- 
like and  contempt  for  his  client.  He  amused  us  in  later  days 
(when  he  actually  became  Philip's  man  of  law)  by  recounting 
anecdotes  of  Woolcomb,  his  fury,  his  jealousy,  his  avarice,  his 
brutal  behavior.  Poor  Agnes  had  married  for  money,  and  he 
gave  her  none.  Old  Twysden,  in  giving  his  daughter  to  this 
man,  had  hoped  to  have  the  run  of  a  fine  house  ;  to  ride  in  Wool- 
comb's  carriages,  and  feast  at  his  table.  But  Woolcomb  was 
so  stingy  that  he  grudged  the  meat  which  his  wife  ate,  and 
would  give  none  to  her  relations.  He  turned  those  relations 
out  of  his  doors.  Talbot  and  Ringwood  Twysden,  he  drove 
them  both  away.  He  lost  a  child,  because  he  would  not  send 
for  a  physician.  His  wife  never  forgave  him  that  meanness. 
Her  hatred  for  him  became  open  and  avowed.  They  parted, 
and  she  led  a  life  into  which  we  will  look  no  farther.  She 
quarrelled  with  parents  as  well  as  husband.  "  Why,"  she  said, 
"did  they  sell  me  to  that  man.?"  Why  did  she  sell  herelf? 
She  required  little  persuasion  from  father  and  mother  when  she 
committed  that  crime.  To  be  sure,  they  had  educated  her  so 
well  to  worldliness,  that  when  the  occasion  came  she  was 
ready. 

We  used  to  see  this  luckless  woman,  with  her  horses  and 
servants  decked  with  Woolcomb's  ribbons,  driving  about  the 
little  town,  and  making  feeble  efforts  to  canvass  the  towns- 
people. They  all  knew  how  she  and  her  husband  quarrelled. 
Reports  came  very  quickly  from  the  Hall  to  the  town.  Wool- 
comb had  not  been  at  Whipham  a  week  when  people  began  to 
hoot  and  jeer  at  him  as  he  passed  in  his  carriage.  "  Think 
how  weak  you  must  be,"  Bradgate  said,  "  when  we  can  win 
with  this  horse!  I  wish  he  would  stay  away,  though.  We 
could  manage  much  better  without  him.  He  has  insulted  I 
don't  know  how  many  free  and  independent  electors,  and  in- 
furiated others,  because  he  will  not  give  them  beer  when  they 
come  to  the  house.  If  Woolcomb  would  stay  in  the  place,  and 
we  could  have  the  election  next  year,  I  think  your  man  might 
win.  But,  as  it  is,  he  may  as  well  give  in,  and  spare  the  ex- 
pense of  a  poll."  Meanwhile  Hornblow  was  very  confident. 
We  believe  what  we  wish  to  belie\'e.     It  is  marvellous  what 


636  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

faith  an  enthusiastic  electioneering  agent  can  insjoire  in  his 
client.  At  any  rate,  if  Hornblovv  did  not  win  this  time,  he 
would  at  the  next  election.  I'he  old  Ringwood  domination 
in  Whipham  was  gone  henceforth  for  ever. 

When  the  day  of  election  arrived,  you  may  be  sure  we  came 
over  from  Periwinkle  Bay  to  see  the  battle.  IJy  this  time  Philip 
had  grown  so  enthusiastic  in  Hornblow's  cause — (Philip,  by  the 
way,  never  would  allow  the  possibility  of  a  defeat) — that  he 
had  his  children  decked  in  the  Hornblow  ribbons,  and  drove 
from  the  bay,  wearing  a  cockade  as  large  as  a  pancake.  He,  I, 
and  Ridley  the  painter,  went  together  in  a  dog-cart.  We  were 
hopeful,  though  we  knew  the  enemy  was  strong  ;  and  cheerful, 
though,  ere  we  had  driven  five  miles,  the  rain  began  to  fall. 

Philip  was  very  anxious  about  a  certain  great  roll  of  paper 
which  we  carried  with  us.  When  I  asked  him  what  it  contained, 
he  said  it  was  a  gun  ;  which  was  absurd.  Ridley  smiled  in  his 
silent  way.  When  the  rain  came,  Philip  cast  a  cloak  over  his 
artillery,  and  sheltered  his  powder.  We  little  guessed  at  the 
time  what  strange  game  his  shot  would  bring  down. 

When  we  reached  Whipham,  the  polling  had  continued 
for  some  hours.  The  confounded  black  miscreant,  as  Philip 
called  his  cousin's  husband,  was  at  the  head  of  the  poll,  and 
with  every  hour  his  majority  increased.  The  free  and  indepen- 
dent electors  did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  least  influenced  by 
Philip's  articles  in  the  county  paper,  or  by  the  placards  which 
our  side  had  pasted  over  the  little  town,  and  in  which  freemen 
were  called  upon  to  do  their  duty,  to  support  a  fine  old  English 
gentleman,  to  submit  to  no  Castle  nominee,  and  so  forth.  The 
pressure  of  the  Ringwood  steward  and  bailiffs  was  too  strong. 
However  much  they  disliked  the  black  man,  tradesman  after 
tradesman,  and  tenant  after  tenant,  came  up  to  \'ote  for  him. 
Our  drums  and  trumpets"  at  the  "  Ram  "  blew  loud  defiance  to 
the  brass  band  at  the  "  Ringwood  Arms."  From  our  balcony, 
I  flatter  myself,  we  made  much  finer  speeches  than  the  Ring- 
wood  people  could  deliver.  Hornblow  was  a  popular  man  in 
the  county.  When  he  came  forward  to  speak,  the  market-place 
echoed  with  applause.  The  farmers  and  small  tradesmen 
touched  their  hats  to  him  kindly,  but  slunk  off  sadly  to  the 
polling-booth,  and  voted  according  to  order.  A  fine,  healthy, 
handsome,  red-cheeked  squire,  our  champion's  personal  appear- 
ance enlisted  all  the  ladies  in  his  favor. 

"  If  the  two  men,"  bawled  Philip,  from  the  "  Ram  "  window, 
*'  could  decide  the  contest  with  their  coats  off  before  the 
market-house  yonder,  which  do  you  think  would  win — the  fair 


ON  HIS  WAY  rilROl/GII  THE  WORLD.  637 

man  or  the  darkey  ? "  (Loud  cries  of  *'  Hornblow  for  iver !  " 
or  "  Mr.  Philip,  we'll  have  yew.")  "  But  you  see,  my  friends, 
Mr.  Woolcomb  does  not  like  a  fair  fight.  Why  doesn't  he 
show  at  the  '  Ringwood  Arms  '  and  speak  ?  I  don't  believe  he 
can  speak — not  English.  Are  you  men  ?  Are  you  English- 
men ?  Are  you  white  slaves  to  be  sold  to  that  fellow  ?  "  (Im- 
mense uproar.  Mr.  Finch,  the  Ringwood  agent,  in  vain  tries  to 
get  a  hearing  from  the  balcony  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms,") 
"  Why  does  not  Sir  John  Ringwood — my  Lord  Ringwood  now 
■ — come  down  amongst  his  tenantry  and  back  the  man  he  has 
sent  down  ?  I  suppose  he  is  ashamed  to  look  his  tenants  in 
the  face.  I  should  be  if  I  ordered  them  to  do  such  a  degrad- 
ing job.  You  know,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  a  Ringwood  myself. 
My  grandfather  lies  buried — no,  not  buried — in  yonder  church. 
His  tomb  is  there.  His  body  lies  on  the  glorious  field  of 
Busaco  ! "  ("  Hurray  !  ")  "  I  am  a  Ringwood."  (Cries  of 
"  Hoo — down.  No  Ringwoods  year.  We  wunt  have  un  !  ") 
"  And  before  George,  if  I  had  a  vote,  I  would  give  it  for  the 
gallant,  the  good,  the  admirable,  the  excellent  Hornblow. 
Some  one  holds  up  the  state  of  the  poll,  and  Woolcomb  is 
ahead !  I  can  only  say,  electors  of  Whipham,  the  more  sha7ne 
for  you  ! ''  "Hooray!  Bravo!"  The  boys,  the  people,  the 
shouting  are  all  on  our  side.  The  voting,  I  regret  to  say, 
steadily  continues  in  favor  of  the  enemy. 

As  Philip  was  making  his  speech,  an  immense  banging  of 
drums  and  blowing  of  trumpets  arose  from  the  balcony  of  the 
*'  Ringwood  Arms,"  and  a  something  resembling  the  song  of 
triumph  called,  "See  the  Conquering  Hero  comes,"  was  per- 
formed by  the  opposition  orchestra.  The  lodge-gates  of  the 
park  were  now  decorated  with  the  Ringwood  and  Woolcomb 
flags.  They  were  flung  open,  and  a  dark  green  chariot  with 
four  gray  horses  issued  from  the  park.  On  the  chariot  was  an 
earl's  coronet,  and  the  people  looked  rather  scared  as  it  came 
towards  us,  and  said — "  Do'ee  look,  now,  'tis  my  lard's  own 
post-chaise  !  "  On  former  days  Mr,  Woolcomb,  and  his  wife  as 
his  aide-de-camp,  had  driven  through  the  town  in  an  open 
barouche,  but,  to-day  being  rainy,  preferred  the  shelter  of  the 
old  chariot,  and  we  saw,  presently,  within,  Mr.  Bradgate,  the 
London  agent,  and  by  his  side  the  darkling  figure  of  Mr.  Wool- 
comb. He  had  passed  many  agonizing  hours,  we  were  told 
svibsequently,  in  attempting  to  learn  a  speech.  He  cried  over 
It.  He  never  could  get  it  by  heart.  He  swore  like  a  frantic 
child  at  his  wife  who  endeavored  to  teach  him  his  lesson. 
"  Now's  the  time,  Mr.  Briggs  !  "  Philip  said  to  Mr.  B,,  our  law- 


638  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

yer's  clerk,  and  the  intelligent  Briggs  sprang  clown  stairs  to  obey 
his  orders.  Clear  the  road  there  !  make  way  !  was  heard  from 
the  crowd  below  us.  The  gates  of  our  inn  court-yard  v Mch 
had  been  closed,  were  suddenly  flung  open,  and,  amidst  the 
roar  of  the  multitude,  there  issued  out  a  cart  drawn  by  two  don- 
keys, and  driven  by  a  negro,  beasts  and  man  all  wearing  Wool- 
comb's  colors.  In  the  cart  was  fixed  a  placard,  on  which  a 
most  undeniable  likeness  of  Mr.  Woolcomb  was  designed  :  who  ■ 
was  made  to  say,  "Vote  for  me!  Am  I  not  a  man  and  a 
Brudder  ?  "  This  cart  trotted  out  of  the  yard  of  the  "  Ram," 
and,  with  a  cortege  of  shouting  boys,  advanced  into  the  mar- 
ket-place, which  Mr.  Woolcomb's  carriage  was  then  crossing. 

Before  tiie  market-house  stands  the  statue  of  the  late  earl, 
whereof  mention  has  been  made.  In  his  peer's  robes,  a  hand 
extended,  he  points  towards  his  park  gates.  An  inscription, 
not  more  mendacious  than  many  other  epigraphs,  records  his 
rank,  age,  virtues,  and  the  esteem  in  which  the  people  of  Whip- 
ham  held  him.  The  mulatto  who  drove  the  team  of  donkeys 
was  an  itinerant  tradesman  who  brought  tish  from  the  bay  to 
the  little  town  ;  a  jolly  wag,  a  fellow  of  indifferent  character,  a 
frequenter  of  all  the  ale-houses  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
rather  celebrated  for  his  skill  as  a  bruiser.  He  and  his  steeds 
streamed  with  Woolcomb  ribbons.  With  ironical  shouts  of 
"Woolcomb  for  ever!"  Yellow  Jack  urged  his  cart  towards 
the  chariot  with  the  white  horses.  He  took  off  his  hat  with 
mock  respect  to  the  candidate  sitting  within  the  green  chariot. 
From  the  balcony  of  the  "  Ram  "  we  could  see  the  two  vehicles 
approaching  each  otlier  ;  and  Yellow  Jack  waving  his  ribboned 
hat,  kicking  his  bandy  legs  here  and  there,  and  urging  on  his 
donkeys.  What  with  the  roar  of  the  peeple,  and  the  banging 
and  trumpeting  of  the  rival  bands,  we  could  hear  but  little  :  but 
I  saw  Woolcomb  thrust  his  yellow  head  out  of  his  chaise 
window — he  pointed  towards  that  impudent  donkey-cart,  and 
urged,  seemingly,  his  postilions  to  ride  it  down.  Plying  their 
whips,  the  postboys  galloped  towards  Yellow  Jack  and  his 
vehicle,  a  yelling  crowd  scattering  from  before  the  horses,  and 
rallying  behind  them,  to  utter  execrations  at  Woolcomb.  His 
horses  were  frightened,  no  doubt ;  for  just  as  Yellow  Jack 
wheeled  nimbly  round  one  side  of  the  Ringwood  statue.  Wool- 
comb's  horses  weie  all  huddled  together  and  plunging  in  con- 
fusion beside  it,  the  fore-wheel  came  in  abrupt  collision  with 
the  stonework  of  the  statue  railing:  and  then  we  saw  the 
vehicle  turn  over  altogether,  one  of  the  wheelers  down  with  its 
rider,  and  the  leaders  kicking,  plunging,  lashing  out  right  and 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  C39 

left,  wild  and  maddened  with  fear.  Mr.  Philip's  countenance, 
I  am  bound  to  say,  wore  a  most  guilty  and  queer  expression. 
This  accident,  this  collision,  'his injury,  perhaps  death  of  Wool- 
comb  and  his  lawyer,  arose  out  of  our  fine  joke  about  the  Man 
and  the  Brother. 

We  dashed  down  the  stairs  from  the  "  Ram  " — Hornblow, 
Philip,  and  half-a-dozen  more — and  made  a  way  through  the 
crowd  towards  the  carriage,  with  its  prostrate  occupants.  The 
mob  made  way  civilly  for  the  popular  candidate — the  losing 
candidate.  When  we  reached  the  chaise,  the  traces  had  been 
cut :  the  horses  were  free  :  the  fallen  postilion  was  up  and 
rubbing  his  leg :  and,  as  soon  as  the  wheelers  were  taken  out 
of  the  chaise,  Woolcomb  emerged  from  it.  He  had  said  from 
within  (accompanying  his  speech  with  many  oaths,  which  need 
not  be  repeated,  and  showing  a  just  sense  of  his  danger),  "  Cut 
the  traces,  hang  you  !  And  take  the  horse  away  :  I  can  wait 
until  they're  gone.  I'm  sittin'  on  my  lawyer  ;  I  ain't  going  to 
have  my  head  kicked  off  by  those  wheelers."  And  just  as  we 
reached  the  fallen  post-chaise  he  emerged  from  it,  laughing  and 
saying,  "  Lie  still,  you  old  beggar  !  "  to  Mr.  Bradgate,  who  was 
writhing  underneath  him.  His  issue  from  the  carriage  was 
received  with  shouts  of  laughter,  which  increased  prodigiously 
when  Yellow  Jack,  nimbly  clambering  up  the  statue-railings, 
thrust  the  outstretched  arm  of  the  statue  through  the  picture 
of  the  Man  and  the  Brother,  and  left  that  cartoon  flapping  in 
the  air  over  Woolcomb's  head. 

Then  a  shout  arose,  the  like  of  which  has  seldom  been 
heard  in  that  quiet  little  town.  Then  Woolcomb,  who  had 
been  quite  good-humored  as  he  issued  out  of  the  broken  post- 
chaise,  began  to  shriek,  curse  and  revile  more  shrilly  than 
before  ;  and  was  heard,  in  the  midst  of  his  oaths,  and  wrath,  to 
say,  "  He  would  give  any  man  a  shillin'  who  would  bring  him 
down  that  confounded  thing !  "  Then  scared,  bruised,  contused, 
confused,  poor  Mr.  Bradgate  came  out  of  the  carriage,  his 
employer  taking  not  the  least  notice  of  him. 

Hornblow  hoped  Woolcomb  was  not  hurt,  on  which  the 
little  gentleman  turned  round  and  said,  "  Hurt  ?  no  ;  who  are 
yo«  ?  Is  no  fellah  goin'  to  bring  me  down  that  confounded 
thing  ?     I'll  give  a  shillin',  I  say,  to  the  fellah  who  does  !  " 

*'  A  shilling  is  offered  for  that  picture  !  "  shouts  Philip  with 
a  red  face,  and  wild  with  excitement.  "  Who  will  take  a  whole 
shilling  for  that  beauty  ?  " 

On  which  W^oolcomb  began  to  scream,  curse,  and  revile 
more  bitterly  than  before,     "  You  here  ?     Hang  you,  why  ar© 


G40  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

you  here  ?  Don't  come  bullyin'  me.  Take  that  fellah  away, 
some  of  you  fellahs.  Bradgate,  come  to  my  committee-room. 
I  won't  stay  here,  I  say.  Let's  have  the  beast  of  a  carriage, 
and Well,  what's  up  now  ?  " 

While  he  was  talking,  shrieking,  and  swearing,  half-a-dozen 
shoulders  in  the  crowd  had  raised  the  carriage  up  on  its  three 
wheels.  The  panel  which  had  fallen  towards  the  ground  had 
split  against  a  stone,  and  a  great  gap  was  seen  in  the  side.  A 
lad  was  about  to  thrust  his  hand  into  the  orifice,  when  Wool- 
comb  turned  upon  him. 

"  Hands  off,  you  little  beggar  !  "  he  cried,  ''  no  priggin' ! 
Drive  away  some  of  these  fellahs,  you  postboys  !  Don't  stand 
rubbin'  your  knee  there,  you  great  fool.  What's  this  }  "  and  he 
thrusts  his  own  hand  into  the  jjlace  where  the  boy  had  just 
been  marauding. 

In  the  «ld  travelling  carriages  there  used  to  be  a  well  or 
sword-case,  in  which  travellers  used  to  put  swords  and  pistols  i»» 
days  when  such  weapons  of  defence  were  needful  on  the  road. 
Out  of  this  sword-case  of  Lord  Ringwood's  old  post-chariot, 
Woolcomb  did  not  draw  a  sword,  but  a  foolscap  paper  folded 
and  tied  with  a  red  tape.  And  he  began  to  read  the  superscrip- 
tion— "  Will  of  the  Right  Honorable  John,  Earl  of  Ringwood. 
Bradgate,  Smith  and  Burrows." 

"  God  bless  my  soul  !  It's  the  will  he  had  back  from  my 
office,  and  which  I  thought  he  had  destroyed.  My  dear  fellow, 
I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart !  "  And  herewith  Mr. 
Bradgate  the  lawyer  began  to  shake  Philip's  hand  with  much 
warmth.  "  Allow  me  to  look  at  that  paper.  Yes,  this  is  in 
my  handwriting.  Let  us  come  into  the  '  Ringwood  Arms  ' — the 
*  Ram  ' — anywhere,  and  read  it  to  you  !  " 

*  *  Here  we  looked  up  to  the  balcony  of  the  "  Ringwood 
Arms,"  and  beheld  a  great  placard  announcing  the  state  of  the 
poll  at  I  o'clock. 

Woolcomb        .  .        216 

Horn  BLOW        .        .        .  92 

*'  We  are  beaten,"  said  Mr.  Hornblow,  very  good-naturedly. 
"  We  may  take  our  flag  down.  Mr.  Woolcomb,  I  congratulate 
you." 

"  I  knew  we  should  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Woolcomb,  putting  out 
a  little  yellow-kidded  hand.  "  Had  all  the  votes  beforehand — 
knew  we  sliould  do  the  trick,  I  say.  Hi !  you — Wliat-do-you- 
call'im — Bradgate  !  What  is  it  about,  that  will  ?  It  does  not 
do  any  good  to  //laf  beggar,  does  it  ?  "  and  with  laughter  and 
shouts,  and  cries  of  "  Woolcomb  for  ever,"  and  "  Give  us  somC' 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  641 

thing  to  drink,  your  honor,"  the  successful  candidate  marched 
into  his  hotel. 

And  was  the  tawny  Woolcomb  the  fairy  who  was  to  rescue 
Philip  from  grief,  debt,  and  poverty  ?  Yes.  And  the  old  post- 
chaise  of  the  late  Lord  Ringwood  was  the  fairy  chariot.  You 
have  read  in  a  past  chapter  how  the  old  lord,  being  transported 
with  anger  against  Philip,  desired  his  lawyer  to  bring  back  a 
will  in  which  he  had  left  a  handsome  legacy  to  the  young  man, 
as  his  mother's  son.  My  lord  had  intended  to  make' a  provision 
for  Mrs.  Firmin,  when  she  was  his  dutiful  niece,  and  yet  under 
his  roof.  When  she  eloped  with  Mr.  Firmin,  Lord  Ringwood 
vowed  he  would  give  his  niece  nothing.  But  he  was  pleased 
with  the  independent  and  forgiving  spirit  exhibited  by  her  son  ; 
and,  being  a  person  of  much  grim  humor,  I  dare  say  chuckled 
inwardly  at  thinking  how  furious  the  Twysdens  would  be,  when 
they  found  Philip  was  the  old  lord's  favorite.  Then  Mr. 
Philip  chose  to  be  insubordinate,  and  to  excite  the  wrath  of  his 
great-uncle,  who  desired  to  have  his  will  back  again.  He  put 
the  document  into  his  carriage,  in  the  secret  box,  as  he  drove 
away  on  that  last  journey,  in  the  midst  of  which  death  seized 
him.  Had  he  survived,  would  he  have  made  another  will,  leaving 
out  all  mention  of  Philip  ?  Who  shall  say  ?  My  lord  made  and 
cancelled  many  wills.  This  certainly,  duly  drawn  and  witnessed, 
was  the  last  he  ever  signed  ;  and  by  it  Philip  is  put  in  posses- 
sion of  a  sum  of  money  which  is  sufficient  to  ensure  a  provision 
for  those  whom  he  loves.  Kind  readers,  I  know  not  whether 
the  fairies  be  rife  now,  or  banished  from  this  work-a-day  earth, 
but  Philip's  biographer  wishes  you  some  of  those  blessings 
which  never  forsook  Philip  in  his  trials  :  a  dear  wife  and  child- 
ren to  love  you,  a  true  friend  or  two  to  stand  by  you,  and  in 
health  or  sickness  a  clear  conscience,  and  a  kindly  heart.  If 
you  fall  upon  the  way,  may  succor  reach  you.  And  may  you, 
in  your  turn,  have  help  and  pity  in  store  for  the  unfortunate 
whom  you  overtake  on  life's  journey. 

Would  you  care  to  know  what  happened  to  the  other  per- 
sonages ol  our  narrative  1  Old  Twys-den  is  still  babbling  and 
bragging  at  clubs,  and  though  aged  is  not  the  least  venerable. 
He  has  quarrelled  with  his  son  for  not  calling  Woolcomb  out, 
when  that  unhappy  difference  arose  between  the  Black  Prince 
and  his  wife.  He  says  his  family  has  been  treated  with  cruel 
injustice  by  the  late  Lord  Ringwood,  but  as  soon  as  Philip  had 
a  little  fortune  left  him  he  instantly  was  reconciled  to  his  wife's 
nephew.     There  are  other  friends  of  Firmin's  who  were  kind 

41 


642  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

enough  to  him  in  his  evil  days,  but  cannot  pardon  his  pros- 
perity. Being  in  that  benevolent  mood  whicli  must  accompany 
any  leave-taking,  we  will  not  name  these  ill-wishers  of  Philip, 
but  wish  that  all  readers  of  his  story  may  have  like  reason  to 
make  some  of  their  acquaintances  angry. 

Our  dear  Little  Sister  would  never  live  with  Philip  and 
Charlotte,  though  the  latter  especially  and  with  all  her  heart 
besought  Mrs.  Brandon  to  come  to  them.  That  pure  and  use- 
ful and  modest  life  ended  a  few  years  since.  She  died  of  a 
fever  caught  from  one  of  her  patients.  She  would  not  allow 
Philip  or  Charlotte  to  come  near  her.  She  said  she  was  justly 
punished  for  being  so  proud  as  to  refuse  to  live  with  them.  All 
her  little  store  she  left  to  Philip.  He  has  now  in  his  desk  the 
five  guineas  which  she  gave  him  at  his  marriage;  and  J.  J.  has 
made  a  little  picture  of  her,  with  her  sad  smile  and  her  sweet 
face,  which  hangs  in  Philip's  drawing-room,  where  father, 
mother,  and  children  talk  of  the  Little  Sister  as  though  she 
were  among  them  still. 

She  was  dreadfully  agitated  when  the  news  came  from  New 
York  of  Doctor  Firmin's  second  marriage.  "  His  second  ? 
His  third  t  "  she  said.  "  The  villain,  the  villain  !  "  That 
strange  delusion  which  we  have  described  as  sometimes  posses- 
sing her  increased  in  intensity  after  this  news.  More  than 
ever,  she  believed  that  Philip  was  her  own  child.  She  came 
wildly  to  him,  and  cried  that  his  father  had  forsaken  them.  It 
was  only  when  she  was  excited  that  she  gave  utterance  to  this 
opinion.  Doctor  Goodenough  says  that  though  generally  silent 
about  it,  it  never  left  her. 

Upon  his  marriage  Dr.  Firmin  wrote  one  of  his  long  letters 
to  his  son,  announcing  the  event.  He  described  the  wealth  of 
the  lady  (a  widow  from  Norfolk,  in  Virginia)  to  whom  he  was 
about  to  be  united.  He  would  pay  back,  ay,  with  interest, 
every  pound,  every  dollar,  every  cent  he  owed  his  son.  Was 
the  lady  wealthy  ?     We  had  only  the  poor  doctor's  word. 

Three  months  after  his  marriage  he  died  of  yellow  fever,  on 
his  wife's  estate.  It  was  then  the  Little  Sister  came  to  see  us 
in  widow's  mourning,  very  wild  and  flushed.  She  bade  our 
servant  say,  "  Mrs.  Firmin  was  at  the  door  ;  "  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  man,  who  knew  her.  She  had  even  caused  a 
mourning-card  to  be  printed.  Ah,  there  is  rest  now  for  that 
little  fevered  brain,  and  peace,  let  us  pray,  for  that  fond  faith- 
ful heart. 

The  mothers  in  Philip's  household  and  mine  have  already 
made  a  match  between  our  children.    We  had  a  great  gathering 


ON  HIS  WA  Y  THROUGH  THE  WORLD.  643 

the  other  day  at  Roehampton,  at  the  house  of  our  friend,  Mr. 
Clive  Newcome  (whose  tall  boy,  my  wife  says,  was  very  attentive 
to  our  Helen),  and,  having  been  educated  at  the  same  school, 
we  sat  ever  so  long  at  dessert,  telling  old  stories,  whilst  the 
children  danced  to  piano  music  on  the  lawn.  Dance  on  the 
lawn,  young  folks,  whilst  the  elders  talk  in  the  shade  !  What  ? 
The  night  is  falling :  we  have  talked  enough  over  our  wine: 
and  it  is  time  to  go  home  ?  Good-night.  Good-night,  friendSj 
old  and  young!  The  night  will  fall:  the  stories  must  endf 
and  the  best  friends  must  part. 


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